THE 


NEW-ENGLAND    TRAGEDIES. 


BY 


HENRY  WADSWORTH   LONGFELLOW. 


I.   JOHN  ENDICOTT. 
II.    GILES  COREY  OF  THE  SALEM  FARMS. 


BOSTON : 

TICKNOR     AND     FIELDS. 
1868. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

HENRY   WADSWORTH   LONGFELLOW, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  :  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 

CAMBRIDGE. 


vx 


i. 


JOHN      ENDICOTT 


7138 


For  Costume,  see  DRAKE'S  History  of  Boston. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


JOHN  ENDICOTT,  .  .  . 
JOHN  ENDICOTT,  .  .  . 
RICHARD  BELLINGHAM,  . 
JOHN  NORTON,  .... 
EDWARD  BUTTER,  .  .  . 
WALTER  MERRY,  .  .  . 
NICHOLAS  UPSALL,  .  . 
SAMUEL  COLE,  .... 
SIMON  KEMPTHORN,  ) 
RALPH  GOLDSMITH,  ) 


Governor. 

his  son. 

Deputy  Governor. 

Minister  of  tJie  Gospel. 

Treasurer. 

Tithing-man. 

an  old  man. 

Landlord  of  the  Three  Mariners. 

Sea -Captains, 


WENLOCK  CHRISTISON, 

EDITH,  his  daughter,         V  Quakers. 

EDWARD  WHARTON, 

Assistants,  Halberdiers,  Marshal,  &>c. 
The  Scene  is  in  Boston  in  the  year  1665. 


PROLOGUE. 


'HHO-NIGHT  we  strive  to  read,  as  we  may  best, 

JL     This  city,  like  an  ancient  palimpsest ; 
And  bring  to  light,  upon  the  blotted  page, 
The  mournful  record  of  an  earlier  age, 
That,  pale  and  half  effaced,  lies  hidden  away 
Beneath  the  fresher  writing  of  to-day. 

Rise,  then,  O  buried  city  that  has  been ; 
Rise  up,  rebuilded  in  the  painted  scene, 
And  let  our  curious  eyes  behold  once  more 
The  pointed  gable  and  the  pent-house  door, 
The  Meeting-house  with  leaden-latticed  panes, 
The  narrow  thoroughfares,  the  crooked  lanes  ! 

Rise,  too,  ye  shapes  and  shadows  of  the  Past, 
Rise  from  your  long-forgotten  graves  at  last ; 
Let  us  behold  your  faces,  let  us  hear 
The  words  ye  uttered  in  those  days  of  fear ! 
Revisit  your  familiar  haunts  again,  — 
The  scenes  of  triumph,  and  the  scenes  of  pain, 
And  leave  the  footprints  of  your  bleeding  feet 
Once  more  upon  the  pavement  of  the  street ! 

Nor  let  the  Historian  blame  the  Poet  here, 
If  he  perchance  misdate  the  day  or  year, 


And  group  events  together,  by  his  art, 

That  in  the  Chronicles  lie  far  apart ; 

For  as  the  double  stars,  though  sundered  far, 

Seem  to  the  naked  eye  a  single  star, 

So  facts  of  history,  at  a  distance  seen, 

Into  one  common  point  of  light  convene. 

"  Why  touch  upon  such  themes  ? "  perhaps  some 

friend 

May  ask,  incredulous  ;  "  and  to  what  good  end  ? 
Why  drag  again  into  the  light  of  day 
The  errors  of  an  age  long  passed  away  ? " 
I  answer  :  "  For  the  lesson  that  they  teach  ; 
The  tolerance  of  opinion  and  of  speech. 
Hope,  Faith,  and  Charity  remain,  —  these  three ; 
And  greatest  of  them  all  is  Charity." 

Let  us  remember,  if  these  words  be  true, 
That  unto  all  men  Charity  is  due  ; 
Give  what  we  ask  ;  and  pity,  while  we  blame, 
Lest  we  become  copartners  in  the  shame, 
Lest  we  condemn,  and  yet  ourselves  partake, 
And  persecute  the  dead  for  conscience'  sake. 

Therefore  it  is  the  author  seeks  and  strives 
To  represent  the  dead  as  in  their  lives, 
And  lets  at  times  his  characters  unfold 
Their  thoughts  in  their  own  language,  strong  and 

bold; 

He  only  asks  of  you  to  do  the  like  ; 
To  hear  him  first,  and,  if  you  will,  then  strike. 


JOHN    ENDICOTT. 


ACT   I. 

SCENE  I.  Sunday  afternoon.  The  interior  of  the  Meeting 
house.  On  the  pulpit,  an  hour-glass ;  below,  a  box  for 
contributions.  JOHN  NORTON  in  the  pulpit.  GOVER 
NOR  ENDICOTT  in  a  canopied  seat,  attended  by  four  hal 
berdiers.  The  congregation  singing. 

'  I  ""HE  Lord  descended  from  above, 

J-     And  bowed  the  heavens  high  ; 
And  underneath  his  feet  he  cast 
The  darkness  of  the  sky. 

On  Cherubim  and  Seraphim 

Right  royally  he  rode, 
And  on  the  wings  of  mighty  winds 

Came  flying  all  abroad. 

NORTON  (rising  and  turning  the  hour-glass  on  the  pulpit}. 

I  heard  a  great  voice  from  the  temple  saying 
Unto  the  Seven  Angels,  Go  your  ways  ; 
Pour  out  the  vials  of  the  wrath  of  God 
Upon  the  earth.     And  the  First  Angel  went 

i* 


io  John  Endicott.  [ACT  I. 

And  poured  his  vial  on  the  earth  ;  and  straight 

There  fell  a  noisome  and  a  grievous  sore 

On  them  which  had  the  birth-mark  of  the  Beast, 

And  them  which  worshipped  and  adored  his  image. 

On  us  hath  fallen  this  grievous  pestilence. 

There  is  a  sense  of  horror  in  the  air ; 

And  apparitions  of  things  horrible 

Are  seen  by  many.     From  the  sky  above  us 

The  stars  fall ;  and  beneath  us  the  earth  quakes ! 

The  sound  of  drums  at  midnight  in  the  air, 

The  sound  of  horsemen  riding  to  and  fro, 

As  if  the  gates  of  the  invisible  world 

Were  opened,  and  the  dead  came  forth  to  warn  us,  — 

All  these  are  omens  of  some  dire  disaster 

Impending  over  us,  and  soon  to  fall. 

Moreover,  in  the  language  of  the  Prophet, 

Death  is  again  come  up  into  our  windows, 

To  cut  off  little  children  from  without, 

And  young  men  from  the  streets.     And  in  the  midst 

Of  all  these  supernatural  threats  and  warnings 

Doth  Heresy  uplift  its  horrid  head  ; 

A  vision  of  Sin  more  awful  and  appalling 

Than  any  phantasm,  ghost,  or  apparition, 

As  arguing  and  portending  some  enlargement 

Of  the  mysterious  Power  of  Darkness  ! 

EDITH,  barefooted,  and  clad  in  sackcloth,  with  her  hair  hang 
ing  loose  upon  her  shoulders,  walks  slowly  i{p  the  aisle,  fol 
lowed  by  WHARTON  and  other  Quakers.  The  congregation 
starts  up  in  confusion. 


Sc.  I.]  John  Endicott.  1 1 

EDITH  (to  NORTON,  raising  her  hand).  • 

Peace ! 

NORTON. 

Anathema  maranatha  !     The  Lord  cometh  ! 

EDITH. 

Yea,  verily  he  cometh,  and  shall  judge 
The  shepherds  of  Israel,  who  do  feed  themselves, 
And  leave  their  flocks  to  eat  what  they  have  trodden 
Beneath  their  feet. 

NORTON. 

Be  silent,  babbling  woman  ! 
St.  Paul  commands  all  women  to  keep  silence 
Within  the  churches. 

EDITH. 

Yet  the  women  prayed 
And  prophesied  at  Corinth  in  his  day  ; 
And,  among  those  on  whom  the  fiery  tongues 
Of  Pentecost  descended,  some  were  women  ! 

NORTON. 

The  Elders  of  the  Churches,  by  our  law, 
Alone  have  power  to  open  the  doors  of  speech 
And  silence  in  the  Assembly.     I  command  you  ! 

EDITH. 

The  law  of  God  is  greater  than  your  laws  ! 
Ye  build  your  church  with  blood,  your  town  with 

crime  ; 

The  heads  thereof  give  judgment  for  reward  ; 
The  priests  thereof  teach  only  for  their  hire  ; 
Your  laws  condemn  the  innocent  to  death  ; 
And  against  this  I  bear  my  testimony  ! 


12  John  Endicott.  [ACT  I. 

NORTON. 

What  testimony  ? 

EDITH. 

That  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
Which,  as  your  Calvin  says,  surpasseth  reason. 

NORTON. 
The  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire. 

EDITH. 

Yet  our  great  Master  did  not  teach  for  hire, 
And  the  Apostles  without  purse  or  scrip 
Went  forth  to  do  his  work.     Behold  this  box 
Beneath  thy  pulpit.     Is  it  for  the  poor  ? 
Thou  canst  not  answer.     It  is  for  the  Priest ; 
And  against  this  I  bear  my  testimony. 

NORTON. 

Away  with  all  these  Heretics  and  Quakers  ! 
Quakers,  forsooth  !     Because  a  quaking  fell 
On  Daniel,  at  beholding  of  the  Vision, 
Must  ye  needs  shake  and  quake  ?     Because  Isaiah 
Went  stripped  and  barefoot,  must  ye  wail  and  howl  ? 
Must  ye  go  stripped  and  naked  ?  must  ye  make 
A  wailing  like  the  dragons,  and  a  mourning 
As  of  the  owls  ?     Ye  verify  the  adage 
That  Satan  is  God's  ape  !     Away  with  them ! 

Tumult.     The  Quakers  are  driven  out  with  violence,  EDITH 
following  slowly.      The  congregation  retires  in  confusion. 

Thus  freely  do  the  Reprobates  commit 
Such  measure  of  iniquity  as  fits  them 


Sc.  I.J  John  Endicott.  13 

For  the  intended  measure  of  God's  wrath, 
And  even  in  violating  God's  commands 
Are  they  fulfilling  the  divine  decree  ! 
The  will  of  man  is  but  an  instrument 
Disposed  and  predetermined  to  its  action 
According  unto  the  decree  of  God, 
Being  as  much  subordinate  thereto 
As  is  the  axe  unto  the  hewer's  hand  ! 

He  descends  from  the  pulpit,  and  joins  GOVERNOR  ENDICOTT, 
who  comes  forward  to  meet  him. 

The  omens  and  the  wonders  of  the  time, 

Famine,  and  fire,  and  shipwreck,  and  disease, 

The  blast  of  corn,  the  death  of  our  young  men, 

Our  sufferings  in  all  precious,  pleasant  things, 

Are  manifestations  of  the  wrath  divine, 

Signs  of  God's  controversy  with  New  England. 

These  emissaries  of  the  Evil  One, 

These  servants  and  ambassadors  of  Satan, 

Are  but  commissioned  executioners 

Of  God's  vindictive  and  deserved  displeasure. 

We  must  receive  them  as  the  Roman  Bishop 

Once  received  Attila,  saying,  I  rejoice 

You  have  come  safe,  whom  I  esteem  to  be 

The  scourge  of  God,  sent  to  chastise  his  people. 

This  very  heresy,  perchance,  may  serve 

The  purposes  of  God  to  some  good  end. 

With  you  I  leave  it ;  but  do  not  neglect 

The  holy  tactics  of  the  civil  sword. 


14  John  Endicott.  [ACT  I. 

ENDICOTT. 
And  what  more  can  be  done  ? 

NORTON. 

The  hand  that  cut 

The  Red  Cross  from  the  colors  of  the  king 
Can  cut  the  red  heart  from  this  heresy. 
Fear  not.     All  blasphemies  immediate 
And  heresies  turbulent  must  be  suppressed 
By  civil  power. 

ENDICOTT. 

But  in  what  way  suppressed  ? 

NORTON. 

The  Book  of  Deuteronomy  declares 
That  if  thy  son,  thy  daughter,  or  thy  wife, 
Ay,  or  the  friend  which  is  as  thine  own  soul, 
Entice  thee  secretly,  and  say  to  thee, 
Let  us  serve  other  gods,  then  shall  thine  eye 
Not  pity  him,  but  thou  shalt  surely  kill  him, 
And  thine  own  hand  shall  be  the  first  upon  him 
To  slay  him. 

ENDICOTT. 

Four  already  have  been  slain ; 
And  others  banished  upon  pain  of  death. 
But  they  come  back  again  to  meet  their  doom, 
Bringing  the  linen  for  their  winding-sheets. 
We  must  not  go  too  far.     In  truth,  I  shrink 
From  shedding  of  more  blood.    The  people  murmur 
At  our  severity. 


Sc.  I.J  John  Endicott.  15 

NORTON. 

Then  let  them  murmur ! 
Truth  is  relentless  ;  justice  never  wavers  ; 
The  greatest  firmness  is  the  greatest  mercy ; 
The  noble  order  of  the  Magistracy 
Cometh  immediately  from  God,  and  yet 
This  noble  order  of  the  Magistracy 
Is  by  these  Heretics  despised  and  outraged. 

ENDICOTT. 

To-night  they  sleep  in  prison.     If  they  die, 
They  cannot  say  that  we  have  caused  their  death. 
We  do  but  guard  the  passage,  with  the  sword 
Pointed  towards  them  ;  if  they  dash  upon  it, 
Their  blood  will  be  on  their  own  heads,  not  ours. 

NORTON. 

Enough.     I  ask  no  more.     My  predecessor 
Coped  only  with  the  milder  heresies 
Of  Antinomians  and  of  Anabaptists. 
He  was  not  born  to  wrestle  with  these  fiends. 
Chrysostom  in  his  pulpit ;  Augustine 
In  disputation  ;  Timothy  in  his  house  ! 
The  lantern  of  St.  Botolph's  ceased  to  burn 
When  from  the  portals  of  that  church  he  came 
To  be  a  burning  and  a  shining  light 
Here  in  the  wilderness.     And,  as  he  lay 
On  his  death-bed,  he  saw  me  in  a  vision 
Ride  on  a  snow-white  horse  into  this  town. 
His  vision  was  prophetic ;  thus  I  came, 


1 6  John  Endicott.  [ACT  I. 

A  terror  to  the  impenitent,  and  Death 
On  the  pale  horse  of  the  Apocalypse 
To  all  the  accursed  race  of  Heretics  ! 

\Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.  A  street.  On  one  side,  NICHOLAS  UPSALL'S 
house  ;  on  the  other,  WALTER  MERRY'S,  -with  a  flock  of 
pigeons  on  the  roof.  UPSALL  seated  in  the  porch  of  his 
house. 

UPSALL. 

0  day  of  rest !     How  beautiful,  how  fair, 
How  welcome  to  the  weary  and  the  old ! 
Day  of  the  Lord  !  and  truce  to  earthly  cares  ! 
Day  of  the  Lord,  as  all  our  days  should  be ! 
Ah,  why  will  man  by  his  austerities 

Shut  out  the  blessed  sunshine  and  the  light, 
And  make  of  thee  a  dungeon  of  despair ! 

WALTER  MERRY  (entering  and  looking  rotmd  him}. 

All  silent  as  a  graveyard  !     No  one  stirring ; 
No  footfall  in  the  street,  no  sound  of  voices ! 
By  righteous  punishment  and  perseverance, 
And  perseverance  in  that  punishment, 
At  last  I  've  brought  this  contumacious  town 
To  strict  observance  of  the  Sabbath  day. 
Those  wanton  gospellers,  the  pigeons  yonder, 
Are  now  the  only  Sabbath-breakers  left. 

1  cannot  put  them  down.     As  if  to  taunt  me, 


Sc.  II.]  John  Endicott.  17 

They  gather  every  Sabbath  afternoon 

In  noisy  congregation  on  my  roof, 

Billing  and  cooing.     Whir  !  take  that,  ye  Quakers. 

Throws  a  stone  at  the  pigeons.     Sees  U  PSALL. 
Ah !  Master  Nicholas  ! 

UPSALL. 

Good  afternoon, 
Dear  neighbor  Walter. 

MERRY. 

Master  Nicholas, 
You  have  to-day  withdrawn  yourself  from  meeting. 

UPSALL. 

Yea,  I  have  chosen  rather  to  worship  God 
Sitting  in  silence  here  at  my  own  door. 

MERRY. 

Worship  the  Devil !     You  this  day  have  broken 
Three  of  our  strictest  laws.     First,  by  abstaining 
From  public  worship.     Secondly,  by  walking 
Profanely  on  the  Sabbath. 

UPSALL. 

Not  one  step. 

I  have  been  sitting  still  here,  seeing  the  pigeons 
Feed  in  the  street  and  fly  about  the  roofs. 

MERRY. 

You  have  been  in  the  street  with  other  intent 
Than  going  to  and  from  the  Meeting-house. 
And,  thirdly,  you  are  harboring  Quakers  here. 
I  am  amazed  ! 

B 


1 8  John  Endicott.  [ACT  I. 

UPSALL. 

Men  sometimes,  it  is  said, 
Entertain  angels  unawares. 

MERRY. 

Nice  angels  ! 

Angels  in  broad-brimmed  hats  and  russet  cloaks, 
The  color  of  the  Devil's  nutting-bag  !     They  came 
Into  the  Meeting-house  this  afternoon 
More  in  the  shape  of  devils  than  of  angels. 
The  women  screamed  and  fainted ;  and  the  boys 
Made  such  an  uproar  in  the  gallery 
I  could  not  keep  them  quiet. 

UPSALL. 

Neighbor  Walter, 
Your  persecution  is  of  no  avail. 

MERRY. 

'T  is  prosecution,  as  the  Governor  says, 
Not  persecution. 

UPSALL. 

Well,  your  prosecution  ; 
Your  hangings  do  no  good. 

MERRY. 

The  reason  is, 

We  do  not  hang  enough.     But,  mark  my  words, 
We  '11  scour  them ;  yea,  I  warrant  ye, we  '11  scour  them ! 
And  now  go  in  and  entertain  your  angels, 
And  don't  be  seen  here  in  the  street  again 
Till  after  sundown  !  —  There  they  are  again  ! 
Exit  UPSALL.     MERRY  throws  another  stone  at  the  pigeons, 
and  thtn  goes  int&  his  house. 


Sc.  ill.]  John  Endicott.  19 


SCENE  III.  A  room  in  UPSALL'S  house.  Night.  EDITH, 
WHARTON,  and  other  Quakers  seated  at  a  table.  UPSALL 
seated  near  them.  Several  books  on  the  table. 

WHARTON. 

William  and  Marmaduke,  our  martyred  brothers, 
Sleep  in  untimely  graves,  if  aught  untimely 
Can  find  place  in  the  providence  of  God, 
Where  nothing  comes  too  early  or  too  late. 
I  saw  their  noble  death.     They  to  the  scaffold 
Walked  hand  in  hand.     Two  hundred  armed  men 
And  many  horsemen  guarded  them,  for  fear 
Of  rescue  by  the  crowd,  whose  hearts  were  stirred. 

EDITH. 
O  holy  martyrs  ! 

WHARTON. 

When  they  tried  to  speak, 

Their  voices  by  the  roll  of  drums  were  drowned. 
When  they  were  dead  they  still  looked  fresh  and  fair, 
The  terror  of  death  was  not  upon  their  faces. 
Our  sister  Mary,  likewise,  the  meek  woman, 
Has  passed  through  martyrdom  to  her  reward  ; 
Exclaiming,  as  they  led  her  to  her  death, 
"These  many  days  I  've  been  in  Paradise." 
And,  when  she  died,  Priest  Wilson  threw  the  hangman 
His  handkerchief,  to  cover  the  pale  face 
He  dared  not  look  upon. 


2O  John  Endicott.  [ACT  I. 

EDITH. 

As  persecuted, 

Yet  not  forsaken  ;  as  unknown,  yet  known  ; 
As  dying,  and  behold  we  are  alive  ; 
As  sorrowful,  and  yet  rejoicing  alway  • 
As  having  nothing,  yet  possessing  all ! 

WHARTON. 

And  Leddra,  too,  is  dead.     But  from  his  prison, 

The  day  before  his  death,  he  sent  these  words 

Unto  the  little  flock  of  Christ :  "  Whatever 

May  come  upon  the  followers  of  the  Light,  — 

Distress,  affliction,  famine,  nakedness, 

Or  perils  in  the  city  or  the  sea, 

Or  persecution,  or  even  death  itself,  — 

I  am  persuaded  that  God's  armor  of  Light, 

As  it  is  loved  and  lived  in,  will  preserve  you. 

Yea,  death  itself;  through  which  you  will  find  entrance 

Into  the  pleasant  pastures  of  the  fold, 

Where  you  shall  feed  forever  as  the  herds 

That  roam  at  large  in  the  low  valleys  of  Achor. 

And  as  the  flowing  of  the  ocean  fills 

Each  creek  and  branch  thereof,  and  then  retires, 

Leaving  behind  a  sweet  and  wholesome  savor ; 

So  doth  the  virtue  and  the  life  of  God 

Flow  evermore  into  the  hearts  of  those 

Whom  he  hath  made  partakers  of  his  nature ; 

And,  when  it  but  withdraws  itself  a  little, 

Leaves  a  sweet  savor  after  it,  that  many 


Sc.  III.]  John  Endicott.  21 

Can  say  they  are  made  clean  by  every  word 
That  he  hath  spoken  to  them  in  their  silence." 

EDITH  (rising,  and  breaking  into  a  kind  of  chant). 
Truly  we  do  but  grope  here  in  the  dark, 
Near  the  partition-wall  of  Life  and  Death, 
At  every  moment  dreading  or  desiring 
To  lay  our  hands  upon  the  unseen  door ! 
Let  us,  then,  labor  for  an  inward  stillness,  — 
An  inward  stillness  and  an  inward  healing ; 
That  perfect  silence  where  the  lips  and  heart 
Are  still,  and  we  no  longer  entertain 
Our  own  imperfect  thoughts  and  vam  opinions, 
But  God  alone  speaks  in  us,  and  we  wait 
In  singleness  of  heart,  that  we  may  know 
His  will,  and  in  the  silence  of  our  spirits, 
That  we  may  do  His  will,  and  do  that  only ! 

A  long  pause,  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  a  drum  approaching ; 
then  shouts  in  the  street,  and  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door. 

MARSHAL. 

Within  there  !     Open  the  cloor  ! 

MERRY. 

Will  no  one  answer1? 

MARSHAL. 

In  the  King's  name  !     Within  there  ! 

MERRY. 

Open  the  door ! 

UPSALL  (from  the  window). 

It  is  not  barred.    Come  in.     Nothing  prevents  you. 


2.2  John  Endicott.  [ACT  I. 

The  poor  man's  door  is  ever  on  the  latch. 
He  needs  no  bolt  nor  bar  to  shut  out  thieves  ; 
He  fears  no  enemies,  and  has  no  friends 
Importunate  enough  to  turn  the  key  upon  them  ! 

Enter  JOHN  ENDICOTT,  the  MARSHAL,  MERRY,  and  a 
crowd.  Seeing  the  Quakers  silent  and  unmoved,  they 
pause,  awe-struck.  ENDICOTT  opposite  EDITH. 

MARSHAL. 

In  the  King's  name  do  I  arrest  you  all ! 
Away  with  them  to  prison.     Master  Upsall, 
You  are  again  discovered  harboring  here 
These  ranters  and  disturbers  of  the  peace. 
You  know  the  law. 

UPSALL. 

I  know  it,  and  am  ready 
To  suffer  yet  again  its  penalties. 

EDITH  (to  ENDICOTT). 
Why  dost  thou  persecute  me,  Saul  of  Tarsus  ? 


END    OF    ACT    I. 


Sc.  I.]  John  Endicott.  23 

ACT    II. 

SCENE  I.    JOHN  ENDICOTT'S  room.    Early  morning. 
JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

"  Why  dost  thou  persecute  me,  Saul  of  Tarsus  ? " 
All  night  these  words  were  ringing  in  mine  ears ! 
A  sorrowful  sweet  face  ;  a  look  that  pierced  me 
With  meek  reproach ;  a  voice  of  resignation 
That  had  a  life  of  suffering  in  its  tone ; 
And  that  was  all !     And  yet  I  could  not  sleep, 
Or,  when  I  slept,  I  dreamed  that  awful  dream  ! 
I  stood  beneath  the  elm-tree  on  the  Common 
On  which  the  Quakers  have  been  hanged,  and  heard 
A  voice,  not  hers,  that  cried  amid  the  darkness, 
"  This  is  Aceldama,  the  field  of  blood  ! 
I  will  have  mercy,  and  not  sacrifice  !  " 

Opens  the  window,  and  looks  out. 

The  sun  is  up  already ;  and  my  heart 

Sickens  and  sinks  within  me  when  I  think 

How  many  tragedies  will  be  enacted 

Before  his  setting.     As  the  earth  rolls  round, 

It  seems  to  me  a  huge  Ixion's  wheel, 

Upon  whose  whirling  spokes  we  are  bound  fast, 

And  must  go  with  it !     Ah,  how  bright  the  sun 

Strikes  on  the  sea  and  on  the  masts  of  vessels, 

That  are  uplifted  in  the  morning  air, 

Like  crosses  of  some  peaceable  crusade  ! 


24  John  Endicott.  [ACT  n. 

It  makes  me  long  to  sail  for  lands  unknown, 
No  matter  whither !     Under  me,  in  shadow, 
Gloomy  and  narrow  lies  the  little  town, 
Still  sleeping,  but  to  wake  and  toil  awhile, 
Then  sleep  again.     How  dismal  looks  the  prison, 

How  grim  and  sombre  in  the  sunless  street, 

The  prison  where  she  sleeps,  or  wakes  and  waits 
For  what  I  dare  not  think  of,  —  death,  perhaps  ! 
A  word  that  has  been  said  may  be  unsaid  : 
It  is  but  air.     But  when  a  deed  is  done 
It  cannot  be  undone,  nor  can  our  thoughts 
Reach  out  to  all  the  mischiefs  that  may  follow. 
'T  is  time  for  morning  prayers.     I  will  go  down. 
My  father,  though  severe,  is  kind  and  just ; 
And  when  his  heart  is  tender  with  devotion,  — 
When  from  his  lips  have  fallen  the  words,  "  For 
give  us 

As  we  forgive,"  —  then  will  I  intercede 
For  these  poor  people,  and  perhaps  may  save  them. 

[Exit. 


SCENE  II.  Dock  Square.  On  one  side,  the  tavern  of  the 
Three  Mariners.  In  the  background,  a  quaint  building 
•with  gables  ;  and,  beyond  it,  wharves  and  shipping. 
CAPTAIN  KEMPTHORN  and  others  seated  at  a  table  before 
the  door.  SAMUEL  COLE  standing  near  them. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Come,  drink  about  !     Remember  Parson  Melham, 


Sc.  II.]  John  Endicott.  25 

And  bless  the  man  who  first  invented  flip  ! 
They  drink. 
COLE. 

Pray,  Master  Kempthorn,  where  were  you  last  night  ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

On  board  the  Swallow,  Simon  Kempthorn,  master, 
Up  for  Barbadoes,  and  the  Windward  Islands. 

COLE. 
The  town  was  in  a  tumult. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And  for  what  ? 

COLE. 

Your  Quakers  were  arrested. 

KEMPTHORN. 

How  my  Quakers  ? 
COLE. 

Those  you  brought  in  your  vessel  from  Barbadoes. 
They  made  an  uproar  in  the  Meeting-house 
Yesterday,  and  they  're  now  in  prison  for  it. 
I  owe  you  little  thanks  for  bringing  them 
To  the  Three  Mariners. 

KEMPTHORN. 

They  have  not  harmed  you. 
I  tell  you,  Goodman  Cole,  that  Quaker  girl 
Is  precious  as  a  sea-bream's  eye.     I  tell  you 
It  was  a  lucky  day  when  first  she  set 
Her  little  foot  upon  the  Swallow's  deck, 
Bringing  good  luck,  fair  winds,  and  pleasant  weather. 


26  John  Endicott.  [ACT  II. 

COLE. 

I  am  a  law-abiding  citizen  ; 
I  have  a  seat  in  the  new  Meeting-house, 
A  cow-right  on  the  Common ;  and,  besides, 
Am  corporal  in  the  Great  Artillery. 
I  rid  me  of  the  vagabonds  at  once. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Why  should  you  not  have  Quakers  at  your  tavern 
If  you  have  fiddlers  ? 

COLE. 

Never  !  never !  never  ! 
If  you  want  fiddling  you  must  go  elsewhere, 
To  the  Green  Dragon  and  the  Admiral  Vernon, 
And  other  such  disreputable  places. 
But  the  Three  Mariners  is  an  orderly  house, 
Most  orderly,  quiet  and  respectable. 
Lord  Leigh  said  he  could  be  as  quiet  here 
As  at  the  Governor's.     And  have  I  not 
King  Charles's  Twelve  Good  Rules,  all  framed  and 

glazed, 
Hanging  in  my  best  parlor  ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Here  's  a  health 
To  good  King  Charles.     Will  you  not  drink  the 

King? 
Then  drink  confusion  to  old  Parson  Palmer. 

COLE. 
And  who  is  Parson  Palmer  ?     I  don't  know  him. 


Sc.  ii.j  John  Endicott.  27 

KEMPTHORN. 

He  had  his  cellar  underneath  his  pulpit, 
And  so  preached  o'er  his  liquor,  just  as  you  do. 
A  drum  within. 

COLE. 

Here  comes  the  Marshal. 

MERRY  (within). 

,  Make  room  for  the  Marshal. 

KEMPTHORN. 

How  pompous  and  imposing  he  appears  ! 
His  great  buff  doublet  bellying  like  a  mainsail, 
And  all  his  streamers  fluttering  in  the  wind. 
What  holds  he  in  his  hand  ? 

COLE. 

A  Proclamation. 

Enter  the  MARSHAL,  with  a  proclamation  ;  and  MERRY,  with 
a  halberd.  They  are  preceded  by  a  drtimmer,  and  fol 
lowed  by  the  hangman,  with  an  armful  of  books,  and  a 
crowd  of  people,  among  whom  are  UPSALL  and  JOHN 
ENDICOTT.  A  pile  is  made  of  the  books. 

MERRY. 

Silence,  the  drum  !     Good  citizens,  attend 
To  the  new  laws  enacted  by  the  Court. 

MARSHAL  (reads]. 

"  Whereas  a  cursed  sect  of  Heretics 
Has  lately  risen,  commonly  called  Quakers, 
Who  take  upon  themselves  to  be  commissioned 
Immediately  of  God,  and  furthermore 


28  John  Endicott.  [ACT  n. 

Infallibly  assisted  by  the  Spirit 

To  write  and  utter  blasphemous  opinions, 

Despising  Government  and  the  order  of  God 

In  Church  and  Commonwealth,  and  speaking  evil 

Of  Dignities,  reproaching  and  reviling 

The  Magistrates  and  Ministers,  and  seeking 

To  turn  the  people  from  their  faith,  and  thus 

Gain  proselytes  to  their  pernicious  ways ;  — 

This  Court,  considering  the  premises, 

And  to  prevent  like  mischief  as  is  wrought 

By  their  means  in  our  land,  doth  hereby  order, 

That  whatsoever  master  or  commander 

Of  any  ship,  bark,  pink,  or  catch  shall  bring 

To  any  roadstead,  harbor,  creek,  or  cove 

Within  this  Jurisdiction  any  Quakers, 

Or  other  blasphemous  Heretics,  shall  pay 

Unto  the  Treasurer  of  the  Commonwealth 

One  hundred  pounds,  and  for  default  thereof 

Be  put  in  prison,  and  continue  there 

Till  the  said  sum  be  satisfied  and  paid." 

COLE. 
Now,  Simon  Kempthorn,  what  say  you  to  that  ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

I  pray  you,  Cole,  lend  me  a  hundred  pound ! 

MARSHAL   (reads}. 

"  If  any  one  within  this  Jurisdiction 
Shall  henceforth  entertain,  or  shall  conceal 
Quakers,  or  other  blasphemous  Heretics, 


Sc.  IL]  John  Endicott.  29 

Knowing  them  so  to  be,  every  such  person 
Shall  forfeit  to  the  country  forty  shillings 
For  each  hour's  entertainment  or  concealment, 
And  shall  be  sent  to  prison,  as  aforesaid, 
Until  the  forfeiture  be  wholly  paid." 

the  crowd. 


KEMPTHORN. 

Now,  Goodman  Cole,  I  think  your  turn  has  come  ! 

COLE. 

Knowing  them  so  to  be  ! 

KEMPTHORN. 

At  forty  shillings 
The  hour,  your  fine  will  be  some  forty  pound  ! 

COLE. 
Knowing  them  so  to  be  !     That  is  the  law. 

MARSHAL    (reads). 

"  And  it  is  further  ordered  and  enacted, 
If  any  Quaker  or  Quakers  shall  presume 
To  come  henceforth  into  this  Jurisdiction, 
Every  male  Quaker  for  the  first  offence 
Shall  have  one  ear  cut  off;  and  shall  be  kept 
At  labor  in  the  Workhouse,  till  such  time 
As  he  be  sent  away  at  his  own  charge. 
And  for  the  repetition  of  the  offence 
Shall  have  his  other  ear  cut  off,  and  then 
Be  branded  in  the  palm  of  his  right  hand. 
And  every  woman  Quaker  shall  be  whipt 


30  John  Endicott.  [ACT  II. 

Severely  in  three  towns;  and  every  Quaker, 
Or  he  or  she,  that  shall  for  a  third  time 
Herein  again  offend,  shall  have  their  tongues 
Bored  through  with  a  hot  iron,  and  shall  be 
Sentenced  to  Banishment  on  pain  of  Death." 

Loud  murmurs.     The  voice  of  CHRISTISON  in  the  crowd. 

O  patience  of  the  Lord  !     How  long,  how  long, 
Ere  Thou  avenge  the  blood  of  Thine  Elect  ? 

MERRY. 

Silence,  there,  silence  !     Do  not  break  the  peace  ! 

MARSHAL    (reads). 

"  Every  inhabitant  of  this  Jurisdiction 

Who  shall  defend  the  horrible  opinions 

Of  Quakers,  by  denying  due  respect 

To  equals  and  superiors,  and  withdrawing 

From  Church  Assemblies,  and  thereby  approving 

The  abusive  and  destructive  practices 

Of  this  accursed  sect,  in  opposition 

To  all  the  orthodox  received  opinions 

Of  godly  men,  shall  be  forthwith  committed 

Unto  close  prison  for  one  month ;  and  then 

Refusing  to  retract  and  to  reform 

The  opinions  as  aforesaid,  he  shall  be 

Sentenced  to  Banishment  on  pain  of  Death. 

By  the  Court.     Edward  Rawson,  Secretary." 

Now,  hangman,  do  your  duty.     Burn  those  books. 

Loud  murmurs  in  the  crowd.     The  pile  of  books  is  lighted. 


Sc.  II.]  John  Endicott.  31 

UPSALL. 

I  testify  against  these  cruel  laws  ! 
Forerunners  are  they  of  some  judgment  on  us ; 
And,  in  the  love  and  tenderness  I  bear 
Unto  this  town  and  people,  I  beseech  you, 

0  Magistrates,  take  heed,  lest  ye  be  found 
As  fighters  against  God  ! 

JOHN   ENDICOTT   (taking  UPSALL's  hand}. 

Upsall,  I  thank  you 
For  speaking  words  such  as  some  younger  man, 

1  or  another,  should  have  said  before  you. 
Such  laws  as  these  are  cruel  and  oppressive ; 
A  blot  on  this  fair  town,  and  a  disgrace 

To  any  Christian  people. 

MERRY   (aside,  listening  behind  them]. 

Here  's  sedition ! 

I  never  thought  that  any  good  would  come 
Of  this  young  popinjay,  with  his  long  hair 
And  his  great  boots,  fit  only  for  the  Russians 
Or  barbarous  Indians,  as  his  father  says  ! 

THE  VOICE. 

Woe  to  the  bloody  town  !     And  rightfully 
Men  call  it  the  Lost  Town !     The  blood  of  Abel 
Cries  from  the  ground,  and  at  the  final  judgment 
The    Lord  will    say,    "  Cain,  Cain !    where  is  thy 
brother  ? " 

MERRY. 

Silence  there  in  the  crowd  ! 


32  John  Endicott.  [ACT  II. 

UPSALL   (aside). 

'T  is  Christison ! 

THE   VOICE. 

O  foolish  people,  ye  that  think  to  burn 
And  to  consume  the  truth  of  God,  I  tell  you 
That  every  flame  is  a  loud  tongue  of  fire 
To  publish  it  abroad  to  all  the  world 
Louder  than  tongues  of  men  ! 

KEMPTHORN    (springing  to  his  feet). 

Well  said,  my  hearty ! 

There  's  a  brave  fellow  !     There  's  a  man  of  pluck  ! 
A  man  who  's  not  afraid  to  say  his  say, 
Though  a  whole  town  's  against  him.     Rain,  rain, 

rain, 
Bones  of  St.  Botolph,  and  put  out  this  fire  ! 

The  drum  beats.    Exeunt  all  but  MERRY,  KEMPTHORN,  and 
COLE. 

MERRY. 

And  now  that  matter  's  ended,  Goodman  Cole, 
Fetch  me  a  mug  of  ale,  your  strongest  ale. 

KEMPTHORN    (sitting  down). 

And  me  another  mug  of  flip  ;  and  put 
Two  gills  of  brandy  in  it. 

[Exit  COLE. 

MERRY. 

No  ;  no  more. 
Not  a  drop  more,  I  say.     You  Ve  had  enough. 


Sc.  II.]  John  Endicott.  33 

KEMPTHORN. 

And  who  are  you,  sir  ? 

MERRY. 

I  'm  a  Tithing-man, 
And  Merry  is  my  name. 

KEMPTHORN. 

A  merry  name  ! 

I  like  it ;  and  I  '11  drink  your  merry  health 
Till  all  is  blue. 

MERRY. 

And  then  you  will  be  clapped 
Into  the  stocks,  with  the  red  letter  D 
Hung  round  about  your  neck  for  drunkenness. 
You  're  a  free-drinker,  —  yes,  and  a  free-thinker ! 

KEMPTHORN. 

And  you  are  Andrew  Merry,  or  Merry  Andrew. 

MERRY. 
My  name  is  Walter  Merry,  and  not  Andrew. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Andrew  or  Walter,  you  're  a  merry  fellow  ; 
I  '11  swear  to  that. 

MERRY. 

No  swearing,  let  me  tell  you. 
The  other  day  one  Shorthose  had  his  tongue 
Put  into  a  cleft  stick  for  profane  swearing. 

COLE  brings  the  ale. 
2*  c 


34  John  Endicott.  [ACT  n. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Well,  where  's  my  flip  ?     As  sure  as  my  name  's 
Kempthorn  — 

MERRY. 
Is  your  name  Kempthorn  ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

That 's  the  name  I  go  by. 

MERRY. 

What,  Captain  Simon  Kempthorn  of  the  Swallow  ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

No  other. 

MERRY    (touching  him  on  the  shoulder). 

Then  you  're  wanted.     I  arrest  you 
In  the  King's  name. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And  where  's  your  warrant  ? 
MERRY   (unfolding  a  paper,  and  reading}. 

Here. 

Listen  to  me.     "  Hereby  you  are  required, 
In  the  King's  name,  to  apprehend  the  body 
Of  Simon  Kempthorn,  mariner,  and  him 
Safely  to  bring  before  me,  there  to  answer 
All  such  objections  as  are  laid  to  him, 
Touching  the  Quakers."     Signed,  John  Endicott. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Has  it  the  Governor's  seal  ? 


Sc.  in.]  John  Endicott.  35 

MERRY. 

Ay,  here  it  is. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Death's  head  and  cross-bones.     That's  a  pirate's 
flag! 

MERRY. 

Beware  how  you  revile  the  Magistrates  ; 
You  may  be  whipped  for  that. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Then  mum  's  the  word. 
[Exeunt  MERRY  and  KEMPTHORN. 

COLE. 

There  's  mischief  brewing !    Sure,  there  's  mischief 

brewing ! 

I  feel  like  Master  Josselyn  when  he  found 
The  hornet's  nest,  and  thought  it  some  strange  fruit, 
Until  the  seeds  came  out,  and  then  he  dropped  it. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  III.     A  room  in  the  Governor's  house.    Enter  GOV 
ERNOR  ENDICOTT  and  MERRY. 

ENDICOTT. 

My  son,  you  say  ? 

MERRY. 

Your  Worship's  eldest  son. 

ENDICOTT. 

Speaking  against  the  laws  ? 


36  John  Endicott.  [ACT  II. 

MERRY. 

Ay,  worshipful  sir. 

ENDICOTT. 

And  in  the  public  market-place  ? 

MERRY. 

I  saw  him 
With  my  own  eyes,  heard  him  with  my  own  ears. 

ENDICOTT. 

Impossible  ! 

MERRY. 

He  stood  there  in  the  crowd 
With  Nicholas  Upsall,  when  the  laws  were  read 
To-day  against  the  Quakers,  and  I  heard  him 
Denounce  and  vilipend  them  as  unjust, 
As  cruel,  wicked,  and  abominable. 

ENDICOTT. 

Ungrateful  son  !     O  God  !  thou  layest  upon  me 

A  burden  heavier  than  I  can  bear  ! 

Surely  the  power  of  Satan  must  be  great 

Upon  the  earth,  if  even  the  elect 

Are  thus  deceived  and  fall  away  from  grace ! 

MERRY. 

Worshipful  sir !  I  meant  no  harm  — 

ENDICOTT. 

JT  is  well. 
You  Ve  done   your  duty,  though   you  Ve  done  it 

roughly, 

And  every  word  you  Ve  uttered  since  you  came 
Has  stabbed  me  to  the  heart ! 


Sc.  III.]  John  Endicott.  37 

MERRY. 

I  do  beseech 
Your  Worship's  pardon  ! 

ENDICOTT. 

He  whom  I  have  nurtured 
And  brought  up  in  the  reverence  of  the  Lord  ! 
The  child  of  all  my  hopes  and  my  affections  ! 
He  upon  whom  I  leaned  as  a  sure  staff 
For  my  old  age  !     It  is  God's  chastisement 
For  leaning  upon  any  arm  but  His  ! 

MERRY. 

Your  Worship !  — 

ENDICOTT. 

And  this  comes  from  holding  parley 
With  the  delusions  and  deceits  of  Satan. 
At  once,  forever,  must  they  be  crushed  out, 
Or  all  the  land  will  reek  with  heresy ! 
Pray,  have  you  any  children  ? 

MERRY. 

No,  not  any. 

ENDICOTT. 

Thank  God  for  that.     He  has  delivered  you 
From  a  great  care.     Enough ;  my  private  griefs 
Too  long  have  kept  me  from  the  public  service. 

Exit  MERRY.     ENDICOTT  seats  himself  at  the  table  and 
arranges  his  papers. 

The  hour  has  come ;  and  I  am  eager  now 

To  sit  in  judgment  on  these  Heretics.     (A  knock.} 

Come  in.     Who  is  it  ?     (Not  looking  up.} 


38  John  Endicott.  [ACT  II. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

It  is  I. 

ENDICOTT  (restraining  himself). 

Sit  down ! 

JOHN   ENDICOTT    (sitting  down). 

I  come  to  intercede  for  these  poor  people 
Who  are  in  prison,  and  await  their  trial. 

ENDICOTT. 

It  is  of  them  I  wish  to  speak  with  you. 
I  have  been  angry  with  you,  but  't  is  passed. 
For  when  I  hear  your  footsteps  come  or  go, 
See  in  your  features  your  dead  mother's  face, 
And  in  your  voice  detect  some  tone  of  hers, 
All  anger  vanishes,  and  I  remember 
The  days  that  are  no  more,  and  come  no  more, 
When  as  a  child  you  sat  upon  my  knee, 
And  prattled  of  your  playthings,  and  the  games 
You  played  among  the  pear-trees  in  the  orchard  ! 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

O,  let  the  memory  of  my  noble  mother 

Plead  with  you  to  be  mild  and  merciful ! 

For  mercy  more  becomes  a  Magistrate 

Than  the  vindictive  wrath  which  men  call  justice  ! 

ENDICOTT. 

The  sin  of  heresy  is  a  deadly  sin. 

'T  is  like  the  falling  of  the  snow,  whose  crystals 


Sc.  in.]  John  Endicott.  39 

The  traveller  plays  with,  thoughtless  of  his  danger, 
Until  he  sees  the  air  so  full  of  light 
That  it  is  dark ;  and  blindly  staggering  onward, 
Lost,  and  bewildered,  he  sits  down  to  rest ; 
There  falls  a  pleasant  drowsiness  upon  him, 
And  what  he  thinks  is  sleep,  alas !  is  death. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

And  yet  who  is  there  that  has  never  doubted  ? 
And  doubting  and  believing,  has  not  said, 
"  Lord,  I  believe  ;  help  thou  my  unbelief "  ? 

ENDICOTT. 

In  the  same  way  we  trifle  with  our  doubts, 
Whose  shining  shapes  are  like  the  stars  descending ; 
Until  at  last,  bewildered  and  dismayed, 
Blinded  by  that  which  seemed  to  give  us  light, 
We  sink  to  sleep,  and  find  that  it  is  death,    (Rising] 
Death  to  the  soul  through  all  eternity ! 
Alas  that  I  should  see  you  growing  up 
To  man's  estate,  and  in  the  admonition 
And  nurture  of  the  Law,  to  find  you  now 
Pleading  for  Heretics  ! 

JOHN   ENDICOTT    (rising}. 

In  the  sight  of  God, 

Perhaps  all  men  are  Heretics.     Who  dares 
To  say  that  he  alone  has  found  the  truth  ? 
We  cannot  always  feel  and  think  and  act 
As  those  who  go  before  us.     Had  you  done  so, 
You  would  not  now  be  here. 


40  John  Endicott.  [ACT  II. 

ENDICOTT. 

Have  you  forgotten 

The  doom  of  Heretics,  and  the  fate  of  those 
Who  aid  and  comfort  them  ?     Have  you  forgotten 
That  in  the  market-place  this  very  day 
You  trampled  on  the  laws  ?     What  right  have  you, 
An  inexperienced  and  untravelled  youth, 
To  sit  in  judgment  here  upon  the  acts 
Of  older  men  and  wiser  than  yourself, 
Thus  stirring  up  sedition  in  the  streets, 
And  making  me  a  byword  and  a  jest  ? 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Words  of  an  inexperienced  youth  like  me 
Were  powerless  if  the  acts  of  older  men 
Went  not  before  them.     'T  is  these  laws  themselves 
Stir  up  sedition,  not  my  judgment  of  them. 

ENDICOTT. 

Take  heed,  lest  I  be  called,  as  Brutus  was, 
To  be  the  judge  of  my  own  son  !     Begone  ! 
When  you  are  tired  of  feeding  upon  husks, 
Return  again  to  duty  and  submission, 
But  not  till  then. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

I  hear  and  I  obey ! 

[Exit. 

ENDICOTT. 

O  happy,  happy  they  who  have  no  children  ! 

He  's  gone  !    I  hear  the  hall  door  shut  behind  him. 

It  sends  a  dismal  echo  through  my  heart, 


Sc.  III.]  John  Endicott.  41 

As  if  forever  it  had  closed  between  us, 
And  I  should  look  upon  his  face  no  more ! 
O,  this  will  drag  me  down  into  my  grave,  — 
To  that  eternal  resting-place  wherein 
Man  lieth  down,  and  riseth  not  again ! 
Till  the  heavens  be  no  more  he  shall  not  wake, 
Nor   be   roused   from   his    sleep ;  for   Thou  dost 
change 

His  countenance,  and  sendest  him  away  ! 

[Exit. 


END    OF   ACT    II. 


42  John  Endicott.  [ACT  in. 


ACT    III. 

SCENE  I.  The  Court  of  Assistants.  ENDICOTT,  BELLING- 
HAM,  ATHERTON,  and-  other  magistrates.  KEMPTHORN, 
MERRY,  and  constables.  Afterwards  WHARTON,  EDITH, 
and  CHRISTISON. 

ENDICOTT. 

Call  Captain  Simon  Kempthorn. 

MERRY. 

Simon  Kempthorn. 
Come  to  the  bar  ! 

KEMPTHORN  comes  forward. 
ENDICOTT. 

You  are  accused  of  bringing 
Into  this  Jurisdiction,  from  Barbadoes, 
Some  persons  of  that  sort  and  sect  of  people 
Known  by  the  name  of  Quakers,  and  maintaining 
Most  dangerous  and  heretical  opinions ; 
Purposely  coming  here  to  propagate 
Their  heresies  and  errors  ;  bringing  with  them 
And  spreading  sundry  books  here,  which  contain 
Their  doctrines  most  corrupt  and  blasphemous, 
And  contrary  to  the  truth  professed  among  us. 
What  say  you  to  this  charge  ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

I  do  acknowledge, 
Among  the  passengers  on  board  the  Swallow 


Sc.  I.]  John  Endicott.  43 

Were  certain  persons  saying  Thee  and  Thou. 
They  seemed  a  harmless  people,  mostways  silent, 
Particularly  when  they  said  their  prayers. 

ENDICOTT. 

Harmless  and  silent  as  the  pestilence  ! 

You  'd  better  have  brought  the  fever  or  the  plague 

Among  us  in  your  ship  !     Therefore,  this  Court, 

For  preservation  of  the  Peace  and  Truth, 

Hereby  commands  you  speedily  to  transport, 

Or  cause  to  be  transported  speedily, 

The  aforesaid  persons  hence  unto  Barbadoes, 

From  whence  they  came  ;  you  paying  all  the  charges 

Of  their  imprisonment. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Worshipful  sir, 

No  ship  e'er  prospered  that  has  carried  Quakers 
Against  their  will !     I  knew  a  vessel  once  — 

ENDICOTT. 

And  for  the  more  effectual  performance 
Hereof  you  are  to  give  security 
In  bonds  amounting  to  one  hundred  pounds. 
On  your  refusal,  you  will  be  committed 
To  prison  till  you  do  it. 

KEMPTHORN. 

But  you  see 

I  cannot  do  it.     The  law,  sir,  of  Barbadoes 
Forbids  the  landing  Quakers  on  the  island. 


44  John  Endicott.  [ACT  III. 

ENDICOTT. 
Then  you  will  be  committed.     Who  comes  next? 

MERRY. 

There  is  another  charge  against  the  Captain. 

ENDICOTT. 
What  is  it  ? 

MERRY. 

Profane  swearing,  please  your  Worship. 
He  cursed  and  swore  from  Dock  Square  to  the 
Court-house. 

ENDICOTT. 

Then  let  him  stand  in  the  pillory  for  one  hour. 

[Exit  KEMPTHORN  with  constable. 
Who  's  next  ? 

MERRY. 

The  Quakers. 

ENDICOTT. 

Call  them. 

MERRY. 

Edward  Wharton, 
Come  to  the  bar ! 

WHARTON. 

Yea,  even  to  the  bench. 

ENDICOTT. 

Take  off  your  hat. 

WHARTON. 

My  hat  ofTendeth  not. 
If  it  orTendeth  any,  let  him  take  it ; 
For  I  shall  not  resist. 


Sc.  I.]  John  Endicott.  45 

ENDICOTT. 

Take  off  his  hat. 
Let  him  be  fined  ten  shillings  for  contempt. 

MERRY  takes  off  WHARTON'S  hat. 
WHARTON. 

What  evil  have  I  done  ? 

ENDICOTT. 

Your  hair 's  too  long ; 
And  in  not  putting  off  your  hat  to  us 
You  Ve  disobeyed  and  broken  that  commandment 
Which  sayeth  "  Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother." 

WHARTON. 

John  Endicott,  thou  art  become  too  proud ; 

And  lovest  him  who  putteth  off  the  hat, 

And  honoreth  thee  by  bowing  of  the  body, 

And  sayeth  "  Worshipful  sir  !  "  'T  is  time  for  thee 

To  give  such  follies  over,  for  thou  mayest 

Be  drawing  very  near  unto  thy  grave. 

ENDICOTT. 
Now,  sirrah,  leave  your  canting.     Take  the  oath. 

WHARTON. 

Nay,  sirrah  me  no  sirrahs  ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Will  you  swear  ? 

WHARTON. 

Nay,  I  will  not. 


46  John  Endicott.  [ACT  in. 

ENDICOTT. 

You  made  a  great  disturbance 
And  uproar  yesterday  in  the  Meeting-house, 
Having  your  hat  on. 

WHARTON. 

I  made  no  disturbance  ; 
For  peacefully  I  stood,  like  other  people. 
I  spake  no  words  ;  moved  against  none  my  hand  ; 
But  by  the  hair  they  haled  me  out,  and  dashed 
Their  books  into  my  face. 

ENDICOTT. 

You,  Edward  Wharton, 
On  pain  of  death,  depart  this  Jurisdiction 
Within  ten  days.     Such  is  your  sentence.     Go. 

WHARTON. 

John  Endicott,  it  had  been  well  for  thee 
If  this  day's  doings  thou  hadst  left  undone. 
But,  banish  me  as  far  as  thou  hast  power, 
Beyond  the  guard  and  presence  of  my  God 
Thou  canst  not  banish  me  ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Depart  the  Court ; 
We  have  no  time  to  listen  to  your  babble. 

Who  's  next  ? 

[Exit  WHARTON. 

MERRY. 

This  woman,  for  the  same  offence. 
EDITH  comes  forward. 


Sc.  I.]  John  Endicott.  47 

ENDICOTT. 

What  is  your  name  ? 

EDITH. 

'T  is  to  the  world  unknown, 
But  written  in  the  Book  of  Life. 

ENDICOTT. 

Take  heed 

It  be  not  written  in  the  Book  of  Death  ! 
What  is  it  ? 

EDITH. 

Edith  Christison. 

ENDICOTT   (with  eagerness). 

The  daughter 
Of  Wenlock  Christison  ? 

EDITH. 

I  am  his  daughter. 

ENDICOTT. 

Your  father  hath  given  us  trouble  many  times. 
A  bold  man  and  a  violent,  who  sets 
At  naught  the  authority  of  our  Church  and  State, 
And  is  in  banishment  on  pain  of  death. 
Where  are  you  living  ? 

EDITH. 
In  the  Lord. 

ENDICOTT. 

Make  answer 
Without  evasion.     Where  ? 


48  John  Endicott.  [ACT  III. 

EDITH. 

My  outward  being 
Is  in  Barbadoes. 

ENDICOTT. 

Then  why  come  you  here  ? 

EDITH. 
I  come  upon  an  errand  of  the  Lord. 

ENDICOTT. 

'T  is  not  the  business  of  the  Lord  you  're  doing ; 
It  is  the  Devil's.     Will  you  take  the  oath  ? 
Give  her  the  Book. 

MERRY  offers  the  Book. 
EDITH. 

You  offer  me  this  Book 
To  swear  on  ;  and  it  saith,  "  Swear  not  at  all, 
Neither  by  heaven,  because  it  is  God's  Throne, 
Nor  by  the  earth,  because  it  is  his  footstool !  " 
I  dare  not  swear. 

ENDICOTT. 

You  dare  not  ?     Yet  you  Quakers 
Deny  this  Book  of  Holy  Writ,  the  Bible, 
To  be  the  Word  of  God. 

EDITH    (reverentially}. 

Christ  is  the  Word, 
The  everlasting  oath  of  God.     I  dare  not 

ENDICOTT. 

You  own  yourself  a  Quaker,  —  do  you  not  ? 


Sc.  I.]  John  Endicott.  49 

EDITH. 

I  own  that  in  derision  and  reproach 
I  am  so  called. 

ENDICOTT. 

Then  you  deny  the  Scripture 
To  be  the  rule  of  life. 

EDITH. 

Yea,  I  believe 

The  Inner  Light,  and  not  the  Written  Word, 
To  be  the  rule  of  life. 

ENDICOTT. 

And  you  deny 
That  the  Lord's  Day  is  holy. 

EDITH. 

Every  day 

Is  the  Lord's  Day.     It  runs  through  all  our  lives, 
As  through  the  pages  of  the  Holy  Bible 
"  Thus  saith  the  Lord." 

ENDICOTT. 

You  are  accused  of  making 
An  horrible  disturbance,  and  affrighting 
The  people  in  the  Meeting-house  on  Sunday. 
What  answer  make  you  ? 

EDITH. 

I  do  not  deny 

That  I  was  present  in  your  Steeple-house 
On  the  First  Day ;  but  I  made  no  disturbance. 
3  D 


50  John  Endicott.  [ACT  III. 

ENDICOTT. 

Why  came  you  there  ? 

EDITH. 

Because  the  Lord  commanded. 
His  word  was  in  my  heart,  a  burning  fire 
Shut  up  within  me  and  consuming  me, 
And  I  was  very  weary  with  forbearing  ; 
I  could  not  stay. 

ENDICOTT. 

'T  was  not  the  Lord  that  sent  you  ; 
As  an  incarnate  devil  did  you  come  ! 

EDITH. 

On  the  First  Day,  when,  seated  in  my  chamber, 
I  heard  the  bells  toll,  calling  you  together, 
The  sound  struck  at  my  life,  as  once  at  his, 
The  holy  man,  our  Founder,  when  he  heard 
The  far-off  bells  toll  in  the  Vale  of  Beavor. 
It  sounded  like  a  market  bell  to  call 
The  folk  together,  that  the  Priest  might  set 
His  wares  to  sale.     And  the  Lord  said  within  me, 
"  Thou  must  go  cry  aloud  against  that  Idol, 
And  all  the  worshippers  thereof."     I  went 
Barefooted,  clad  in  sackcloth,  and  I  stood 
And  listened  at  the  threshold ;  and  I  heard 
The  praying  and  the  singing  and  the  preaching, 
Which  were  but  outward  forms,  and  without  power. 
Then  rose  a  cry  within  me,  and  my  heart 
Was  filled  with  admonitions  and  reproofs. 
Remembering  how  the  Prophets  and  Apostles 


Sc.  L]  John  Endicott.  5 1 

Denounced  the  covetous  hirelings  and  diviners, 
I  entered  in,  and  spake  the  words  the  Lord 
Commanded  me  to  speak.     I  could  no  less. 

ENDICOTT. 
Are  you  a  Prophetess  ? 

EDITH. 

Is  it  not  written, 

"  Upon  my  handmaidens  will  I  pour  out 
My  spirit,  and  they  shall  prophesy  "  ? 

ENDICOTT. 

Enough ; 

For  out  of  your  own  mouth  are  you  condemned  ! 
Need  we  hear  further  ? 

THE   JUDGES. 

We  are  satisfied. 

ENDICOTT. 

It  is  sufficient.     Edith  Christison, 
The  sentence  of  the  Court  is,  that  you  be 
Scourged  in  three  towns,  with  forty  stripes  save  one, 
Then  banished  upon  pain  of  death  ! 

EDITH. 

Your  sentence 

Is  truly  no  more  terrible  to  me 

Than  had  you  blown  a  feather  into  the  air, 

And,  as  it  fell  upon  me,  you  had  said, 

"  Take  heed  it  hurt  thee  not !  "    God's  will  be  done  ! 

WENLOCK   CHRISTISON    (unseen  in  the  crowd}. 

Woe  to  the  city  of  blood  !     The  stone  shall  cry 


5  2  John  Rndicott.  [ACT  III. 

Out  of  the  wall ;  the  beam  from  out  the  timber 
Shall  answer  it !     Woe  unto  him  that  buildeth 
A  town  with  blood,  and  stablisheth  a  city 
By  his  iniquity  ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Who  is  it  makes 
Such  outcry  here  ? 

CHRISTISON  (coming forward}. 

I,  Wenlock  Christison  ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Banished  on  pain  of  death,  why  come  you  here  ? 

CHRISTISON. 

I  come  to  warn  you  that  you  shed  no  more 
The  blood  of  innocent  men  !     It  cries  aloud 
For  vengeance  to  the  Lord  ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Your  life  is  forfeit 

Unto  the  law  ;  and  you  shall  surely  die, 
And  shall  not  live. 

CHRISTISON. 

Like  unto  Eleazer, 

Maintaining  the  excellence  of  ancient  years 
And  the  honor  of  his  gray  head,  I  stand  before  you  ; 
Like  him  disdaining  all  hypocrisy, 
Lest,  through  desire  to  live  a  little  longer, 
I  get  a  stain  to  my  old  age  and  name  ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Being  in  banishment,  on  pain  of  death, 
You  come  now  in  among  us  in  rebellion. 


Sc.  I.J  John  Endicott.  53 

CHRISTISON. 

I  come  not  in  among  you  in  rebellion, 
But  in  obedience  to  the  Lord  of  Heaven. 
Not  in  contempt  to  any  Magistrate, 
But  only  in  the  love  I  bear  your  souls, 
As  ye  shall  know  hereafter,  when  all  men 
Give  an  account  of  deeds  done  in  the  body  ! 
God's  righteous  judgments  ye  cannot  escape. 

ONE    OF   THE   JUDGES. 

Those  who  have  gone  before  you  said  the  same, 
And  yet  no  judgment  of  the  Lord  hath  fallen 
Upon  us. 

CHRISTISON. 

He  but  waiteth  till  the  measure 
Of  your  iniquities  shall  be  filled  up, 
And  ye  have  run  your  race.     Then  will  his  wrath 
Descend  upon  you  to  the  uttermost  ! 
For  thy  part,  Humphrey  Atherton,  it  hangs 
Over  thy  head  already.     It  shall  come 
Suddenly,  as  a  thief  doth  in  the  night, 
And  in  the  hour  when  least  thou  thinkest  of  it ! 

ENDICOTT. 

We  have  a  law,  and  by  that  law  you  die. 

CHRISTISON. 

I,  a  free  man  of  England  and  freeborn, 
Appeal  unto  the  laws  of  mine  own  nation  ! 

ENDICOTT. 
There  's  no  appeal  to  England  from  this  Court ! 


54  John  Endicott.  LAcT  Hi. 

What !  do  you  think  our  statutes  are  but  paper  ? 
Are  but  dead  leaves  that  rustle  in  the  wind  ? 
Or  litter  to  be  trampled  underfoot  ? 
What  say  ye,  Judges  of  the  Court,  —  what  say  ye  ? 
Shall  this  man  suffer  death  ?     Speak  your  opinions. 

ONE    OF    THE   JUDGES. 

I  am  a  mortal  man,  and  die  I  must, 
And  that  erelong  ;  and  I  must  then  appear 
Before  the  awful  judgment-seat  of  Christ, 
To  give  account  of  deeds  done  in  the  body. 
My  greatest  glory  on  that  day  will  be, 
That  I  have  given  my  vote  against  this  man. 

CHRISTISON. 

If,  Thomas  Danforth,  thou  hast  nothing  more 
To  glory  in  upon  that  dreadful  day 
Than  blood  of  innocent  people,  then  thy  glory 
Will  be  turned  into  shame  !    The  Lord  hath  said  it ! 

ANOTHER    JUDGE. 

I  cannot  give  consent,  while  other  men 
Who  have  been  banished  upon  pain  of  death 
Are  now  in  their  own  houses  here  among  us. 

ENDICOTT. 

Ye  that  will  not  consent,  make  record  of  it. 
I  thank  my  God  that  I  am  not  afraid 
To  give  my  judgment.     Wenlock  Christison, 
You  must  be  taken  back  from  hence  to  prison, 
Thence  to  the  place  of  public  execution, 


Sc.  II.]  John  Endicott.  5  5 

There  to  be  hanged  till  you  be   dead  —  dead- 
dead! 

CHRISTISON. 

If  ye  have  power  to  take  my  life  from  me,  - 

Which  I  do  question,  —  God  hath  power  to  raise 

The  principle  of  life  in  other  men, 

And  send  them  here  among  you.     There  shall  be 

No  peace  unto  the  wicked,  saith  my  God. 

Listen,  ye  Magistrates,  for  the  Lord  hath  said  it ! 

The  day  ye  put  his  servitors  to  death, 

That  day  the  Day  of  your  own  Visitation, 

The  Day  of  Wrath,  shall  pass  above  your  heads, 

And  ye  shall  be  accursed  forevermore  ! 

( To  EDITH,  embracing  her.) 

Cheer   up,  dear   heart !    they  have   not  power  to 
harm  us. 

[Exeunt  CHRISTISON  and  EDITH  guarded.     The  Scene  doses. 


SCENE  II.    A  Street.     Enter  JOHN  ENDICOTT  and  UPSALL. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Scourged  in  three  towns  !  and  yet  the  busy  people 

Go  up  and  down  the  streets  on  their  affairs 

Of  business  or  of  pleasure,  as  if  nothing 

Had  happened  to  disturb  them  or  their  thoughts  ! 

When  bloody  tragedies  like  this  are  acted 


56  John  Endicott.  [ACT  III. 

The  pulses  of  a  nation  should  stand  still ; 

The  town  should  be  in  mourning,  and  the  people 

Speak  only  in  low  whispers  to  each  other. 

UPSALL. 

I  know  this  people  ;  and  that  underneath 
A  cold  outside  there  burns  a  secret  fire 
That  will  find  vent,  and  will  not  be  put  out, 
Till  every  remnant  of  these  barbarous  laws 
Shall  be  to  ashes  burned,  and  blown  away. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Scourged  in  three  towns  !     It  is  incredible 
Such  things  can  be !     I  feel  the  blood  within  me 
Fast  mounting  in  rebellion,  since  in  vain 
Have  I  implored  compassion  of  my  father ! 

UPSALL. 

You  know  your  father  only  as  a  father  ; 

I  know  him  better  as  a  Magistrate. 

He  is  a  man  both  loving  and  severe ; 

A  tender  heart ;  a  will  inflexible. 

None  ever  loved  him  more  than  I  have  loved  him. 

He  is  an  upright  man  and  a  just  man 

In  all  things  save  the  treatment  of  the  Quakers. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Yet  I  have  found  him  cruel  and  unjust 
Even  as  a  father.     He  has  driven  me  forth 
Into  the  street ;  has  shut  his  door  upon  me, 


Sc.  in.]  John  Endicott.  57 

With  words  of  bitterness.     I  am  as  homeless 
As  these  poor  Quakers  are. 
UPSALL. 

Then  come  with  me. 

You  shall  be  welcome  for  your  father's  sake, 
And  the  old  friendship  that  has  been  between  us. 
He  will  relent  erelong.     A  father's  'anger 
Is  like  a  sword  without  a  handle,  piercing 
Both  ways  alike,  and  wounding  him  that  wields  it 
No  less  than  him  that  it  is  pointed  at. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.      The  prison.    Night.     EDITH    reading  the 
Bible  by  a  lamp. 

EDITH. 

"  Blessed  are  ye  when  men  shall  persecute  you, 
And  shall  revile  you,  and  shall  say  against  you 
All  manner  of  evil  falsely  for  my  sake  ! 
Rejoice,  and  be  exceeding  glad,  for  great 
Is  your  reward  in  heaven.     For  so  the  prophets, 
Which  were  before  you,  have  been  persecuted." 
Enter  JOHN  ENDICOTT. 
JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Edith  ! 

EDITH. 

Who  is  it  speaketh  ? 
3* 


58  John  Endicott.  [ACT  III. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Saul  of  Tarsus ; 
As  thou  didst  call  me  once. 

EDITH  (coming forward}. 

Yea,  I  remember. 
Thou  art  the  Governor's  son. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

I  am  ashamed 

Thou  shouldst  remember  me. 
EDITH. 

Why  comest  thou 

Into  this  dark  guest-chamber  in  the  night  ? 
What  seekest  thou  ? 

JOHN   ENDICOTT. 

Forgiveness  ! 

EDITH. 

I  forgive 
All  who  have  injured  me.     What  hast  thou  done  ? 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

I  have  betrayed  thee,  thinking  that  in  this 
I  did  God  service.     Now,  in  deep  contrition, 
I  come  to  rescue  thee. 

EDITH. 

From  what  ? 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

From  prison. 

EDITH. 

I  am  safe  here  within  these  gloomy  walls. 


Sc.  III.]  John  Endicott.  59 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

From  scourging  in  the  streets,  and  in  three  towns ! 

EDITH. 

Remembering  who  was  scourged  for  me,  I  shrink  not 
Nor  shudder  at  the  forty  stripes  save  one. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Perhaps  from  death  itself ! 

EDITH. 

I  fear  not  death, 
Knowing  who  died  for  me. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT    (aside). 

Sure  some  divine 

Ambassador  is  speaking  through  those  lips 
And  looking  through  those  eyes  !    I  cannot  answer ! 

EDITH. 

If  all  these  prison  doors  stood  opened  wide 
I  would  not  cross  the  threshold,  —  not  one  step. 
There  are  invisible  bars  I  cannot  break ; 
There  are  invisible  doors  that  shut  me  in, 
And  keep  me  ever  steadfast  to  my  purpose. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Thou  hast  the  patience  and  the  faith  of  Saints ! 

EDITH. 

Thy  Priest  hath  been  with  me  this  day  to  save  me, 
Not  only  from  the  death  that  comes  to  all, 
But  from  the  second  death  ! 


60  John  Endicott.  [ACT  in. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

The  Pharisee  ! 

My  heart  revolts  against  him  and  his  creed  ! 
Alas  !  the  coat  that  was  without  a  seam 
Is  rent  asunder  by  contending  sects ; 
Each  bears  away  a  portion  of  the  garment, 
Blindly  believing  that  he  has  the  whole  ! 

EDITH. 

When  Death,  the  Healer,  shall  have  touched  our  eyes 
With  moist  clay  of  the  grave,  then  shall  we  see 
The  truth  as  we  have  never  yet  beheld  it. 
But  he  that  overcometh  shall  not  be 
Hurt  of  the  second  death.     Has  he  forgotten 
The  many  mansions  in  our  Father's  house  ? 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

There  is  no  pity  in  his  iron  heart ! 

The  hands  that  now  bear  stamped  upon  their  palms 

The  burning  sign  of  Heresy,  hereafter 

Shall  be  uplifted  against  such  accusers, 

And  then  the  imprinted  letter  and  its  meaning 

Will  not  be  Heresy,  but  Holiness  ! 

EDITH. 

Remember,  thou  condemnest  thine  own  father ! 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

I  have  no  father  !     He  has  cast  me  off. 

I  am  as  homeless  as  the  wind  that  moans 

And  wanders  through  the  streets.    O,  come  with  me  ! 


Sc.  III.]  John  Endicott.  61 

Do  not  delay.     Thy  God  shall  be  my  God, 
And  where  thou  goest  I  will  go. 

EDITH. 

I  cannot. 

Yet  will  I  not  deny  it,  nor  conceal  it ; 
From  the  first  moment  I  beheld  thy  face 
I  felt  a  tenderness  in  my  soul  towards  thee. 
My  mind  has  since  been  inward  to  the  Lord, 
Waiting  his  word.     It  has  not  yet  been  spoken. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

I  cannot  wait.     Trust  me.     O,  come  with  me  ! 

EDITH. 

In  the  next  room,  my  father,  an  old  man, 
Sitteth  imprisoned  and  condemned  to  death, 
Willing  to  prove  his  faith  by  martyrdom ; 
And  thinkest  thou  his  daughter  would  do  less  ? 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

O,  life  is  sweet,  and  death  is  terrible  ! 

EDITH. 

I  have  too  long  walked  hand  in  hand  with  death 
To  shudder  at  that  pale  familiar  face. 
But  leave  me  now.     I  wish  to  be  alone. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Not  yet.     O,  let  me  stay. 

EDITH. 

Urge  me  no  more. 


62  John  Endicott.  [ACT  III. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Alas  !  good  night.     I  will  not  say  good  by  ! 

EDITH. 

Put  this  temptation  underneath  thy  feet. 

To  him  that  overcometh  shall  be  given 

The  white  stone  with  the  new  name  written  on  it, 

That  no  man  knows  save  him  that  doth  receive  it. 

And  I  will  give  thee  a  new  name,  and  call  thee 

Paul  of  Damascus  and  not  Saul  of  Tarsus. 

[Exit  ENDICOTT.     EDITH  sits  down  again  to  read  the  Bible. 


END    OF    ACT    III. 


Sc.  L]  John  Endicott.  63 


ACT   IV. 

SCENE  I.     King  Street,  in  front  of  the  town-house.     KEMP- 
THORN  in  the  pillory.     MERRY,  and  a  crowd  of  lookers-on. 

KEMPTHORN    (sings). 
The  world  is  full  of  care, 

Much  like  unto  a  bubble  ; 
Women  and  care,  and  care  and  women, 

And  women  and  care  and  trouble. 

Good  Master  Merry,  may  I  say  confound  ? 

MERRY. 

Ay,  that  you  may. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Well,  then,  with  your  permission, 
Confound  the  Pillory ! 

MERRY. 

That  's  the  very  thing 

The  joiner  said  who  made  the  Shrewsbury  stocks. 
He  said,  confound  the  stocks,  because  they  put  him 
Into  his  own.     He  was  the  first  man  in  them. 

KEMPTHORN. 

For  swearing,  was  it  ? 

MERRY. 

No,  it  was  for  charging  j 

He  charged  the  town  too  much  ;  and  so  the  town, 
To  make  things  square,  set  him  in  his  own  stocks, 


64  John  Endicott.  [ACT  IV. 

And  fined  him  five  pound  sterling, — just  enough 
To  settle  his  own  bill. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And  served  him  right ; 
But,  Master  Merry,  is  it  not  eight  bells  ? 

MERRY. 

Not  quite. 

KEMPTHORN. 

For,  do  you  see  ?  I  'm  getting  tired 
Of  being  perched  aloft  here  in  this  cro'  nest 
Like  the  first  mate  of  a  whaler,  or  a  Middy 
Mast-headed,  looking  out  for  land  !     Sail  ho ! 
Here  comes  a  heavy-laden  merchantman 
With  the  lee  clews  eased  off,  and  running  free 
Before  the  wind.     A  solid  man  of  Boston. 
A  comfortable  man,  with  dividends, 
And  the  first  salmon,  and  the  first  green  peas. 

A  gentleman  passes. 

He  does  not  even  turn  his  head  to  look. 

He  's  gone  without  a  word.      Here  comes  another, 

A  different  kind  of  craft  on  a  taut  bowline,  — 

Deacon  Giles  Firmin  the  apothecary, 

A  pious  and  a  ponderous  citizen, 

Looking  as  rubicund  and  round  and  splendid 

As  the  great  bottle  in  his  own  shop  window  ! 

DEACON  FIRMIN  passes. 
And  here  's  my  host  of  the  Three  Mariners, 


Sc.  I.]  yokn  Endicott.  65 

My  creditor  and  trusty  taverner, 

My  corporal  in  the  Great  Artillery  ! 

He  's  not  a  man  to  pass  me  without  speaking. 

COLE  looks  away  and  passes. 

Don't  yaw  so  ;  keep  your  luff,  old  hypocrite  ! 

Respectable,  ah  yes,  respectable, 

You,  with  your  seat  in  the  new  Meeting-house, 

Your  cow-right  on  the  Common  !     But  who  's  this  ? 

I  did  not  know  the  Mary  Ann  was  in ! 

And  yet  this  is  my  old  friend,  Captain  Goldsmith, 

As  sure  as  I  stand  in  the  bilboes  here. 

Why,  Ralph,  my  boy  ! 

Enter  RALPH  GOLDSMITH. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Why,  Simon,  is  it  you  ? 
Set  in  the  bilboes  ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Chock-a-block,  you  see, 
And  without  chafing-gear. 

GOLDSMITH. 

And  what 's  it  for  ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Ask  that  starbowline  with  the  boat-hook  there, 
That  handsome  man. 

MERRY  (bowing). 

For  swearing. 

E 


66  John  Endicott.  [ACT  IV. 

KEMPTHORN. 

In  this  town 

They  put  sea-captains  in  the  stocks  for  swearing, 
And  Quakers  for  not  swearing.     So  look  out. 

GOLDSMITH. 

I  pray  you  set  him  free  ;  he  meant  no  harm  ; 
7T  is  an  old  habit  he  picked  up  afloat. 

MERRY. 

Well,  as  your  time  is  out,  you  may  come  down. 
The  law  allows  you  now  to  go  at  large 
Like  Elder  Oliver's  horse  upon  the  Common. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Now,  hearties,  bear  a  hand  !     Let  go  and  haul. 

KEMPTHORN  is  set  free,  and  comes  forward,  shaking  GOLD. 
SMITH'S  hand. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Give  me  your  hand,  Ralph.     Ah,  how  good  it  feels  ! 
The  hand  of  an  old  friend. 

GOLDSMITH. 

God  bless  you,  Simon  ! 

KEMPTHORN. 

Now  let  us  make  a  straight  wake  for  the  tavern 
Of  the  Three  Mariners,  Samuel  Cole  commander  ; 
Where  we  can  take  our  ease,  and  see  the  shipping, 
And  talk  about  old  times. 

GOLDSMITH. 

First  I  must  pay 


Sc.  I.j  John  Endicott.  67 

My  duty  to  the  Governor,  and  take  him 
His  letters  and  despatches.     Come  with  me. 

KEMPTHORN. 

I  'd  rather  not.     I  saw  him  yesterday. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Then  wait  for  me  at  the  Three  Nuns  and  Comb. 

K.EMPTHORN. 

I  thank  you.     That  's  too  near  to  the  town  pump. 
I  will  go  with  you  to  the  Governor's, 
And  wait  outside  there,  sailing  off  and  on  ; 
If  I  am  wanted,  you  can  hoist  a  signal. 

MERRY. 
Shall  I  go  with  you  and  point  out  the  way  ? 

GOLDSMITH. 

O  no,  I  thank  you.     I  am  not  a  stranger 
Here  in  your  crooked  little  town. 

MERRY. 

How  now,  sir  ? 
Do  you  abuse  our  town  ? 

{Exit. 
GOLDSMITH. 

O,  no  offence. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Ralph,  I  am  under  bonds  for  a  hundred  pound. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Hard  lines.     What  for  ? 


68  John  Endicott.  [ACT  IV. 

KEMPTHORN. 

To  take  some  Quakers  back 
I  brought  here  from  Barbadoes  in  the  Swallow. 
And  how  to  do  it  I  don't  clearly  see, 
For  one  of  them  is  banished,  and  another 
Is  sentenced  to  be  hanged  !     What  shall  I  do  ? 

GOLDSMITH. 

Just  slip  your  hawser  on  some  cloudy  night ; 
Sheer  off,  and  pay  it  with  the  topsail,  Simon  ! 

\Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.  Street  in  front  of  the  prison.  In  the  background 
a  gateway  and  several  flights  of  steps  leading  up  terraces 
to  the  GOVERNOR'S  house.  A  pump  on  one  side  of  the 
street.  JOHN  ENDICOTT,  MERRY,  UPSALL,  and  others. 
A  drum  beats. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

O  shame,  shame,  shame ! 

MERRY. 

Yes,  it  would  be  a  shame 
But  for  the  damnable  sin  of  Heresy  ! 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

A  woman  scourged  and  dragged  about  our  streets ! 

MERRY. 

Well,  Roxbury  and  Dorchester  must  take 

Their  share  of  shame.    She  will  be  whipped  in  each  ! 


Sc.il.]  John  Endicott.  69 

Three  towns,  and  Forty  Stripes  save  one ;  that  makes 
Thirteen  in  each. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

And  are  we  Jews  or  Christians  ? 
See  where  she  comes,  amid  a  gaping  crowd  ! 
And  she  a  child.     O,  pitiful !  pitiful ! 
There  's  blood  upon  her  clothes,  her  hands,  her  feet ! 

Enter  MARSHAL  and  a  drummer,  EDITH,  stripped  to  the  -waist, 
followed  by  the  hangman  with  a  scourge,  and  a  noisy  crowd. 

EDITH. 

Here  let  me  rest  one  moment.     I  am  tired. 
Will  some  one  give  me  water  ? 

MERRY. 

At  his  peril. 

UPSALL. 

Alas !  that  I  should  live  to  see  this  day  ! 

A  WOMAN. 

Did  I  forsake  my  father  and  my  mother 
And  come  here  to  New  England  to  see  this  ? 

EDITH. 
I  am  athirst.     Will  no  one  give  me  water  ? 

JOHN    ENDICOTT 

(making  his  way  through  the  crcnud  ivith  water). 

In  the  Lord's  name  ! 

EDITH    (drinking). 

In  his  name  I  receive  it ! 
Sweet  as  the  water  of  Samaria's  well 


^o  John  Endicott.  [ACT  IV. 

This  water  tastes.     I  thank  thee.     Is  it  thou  ? 
I  was  afraid  thou  haclst  deserted  me. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Never  will  I  desert  thee,  nor  deny  thee. 
Be  comforted. 

MERRY. 

O  Master  Endicott, 
Be  careful  what  you  say. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Peace,  idle  babbler ! 

MERRY. 

You  '11  rue  these  words  ! 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Art  thou  not  better  now  ? 

EDITH. 

They  Ve  struck  me  as  with  roses. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Ah,  these  wounds ! 
These  bloody  garments ! 

EDITH. 

It  is  granted  me 
To  seal  my  testimony  with  my  blood. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

O  blood- red  seal  of  man's  vindictive  wrath  ! 

0  roses  of  the  garden  of  the  Lord ! 
I,  of  the  household  of  Iscariot, 

1  have  betrayed  in  thee  my  Lord  and  Master  ! 


Sc.  II.]  John  Endicott.  71 

WENLOCK  CHRISTISON  appears  above,  at  the  window  of  the 
prison,  stretching  out  his  hands  through  the  bars. 

CHRISTISON. 

Be  of  good  courage,  O  my  child  !  my  child  ! 
Blessed  art  thou  when  men  shall  persecute  thee  ! 
Fear  not  their  faces,  saith  the  Lord,  fear  not, 
For  I  am  with  thee  to  deliver  thee. 

A  CITIZEN. 
Who  is  it  crying  from  the  prison  yonder ! 

MERRY. 

It  is  old  Wenlock  Christison. 

CHRISTISON. 

Remember 

Him  who  was  scourged,  and  mocked,  and  crucified  ! 
I  see  his  messengers  attending  thee. 
Be  steadfast,  O,  be  steadfast  to  the  end  ! 

EDITH    (with  exultation}. 

I  cannot  reach  thee  with  these  arms,  O  father ! 
But  closely  in  my  soul  do  I  embrace  thee 
And  hold  thee.     In  thy  dungeon  and  thy  death 
I  will  be  with  thee,  and  will  comfort  thee  ! 

MARSHAL. 

Come,  put  an  end  to  this.     Let  the  drum  beat. 

The  drum  beats.     Exeunt  all  but  JOHN  ENDICOTT,  UPSALL, 
and  MERRY. 

CHRISTISON. 

Dear  child,  farewell !     Never  shall  I  behold 


72  John  Endicott.  [ACT  iv. 

Thy  face  again  with  these  bleared  eyes  of  flesh  ; 

And  never  wast  thou  fairer,  lovelier,  dearer 

Than  now,  when  scourged  and  bleeding,  and  insulted 

For  the  truth's  sake.     O  pitiless,  pitiless  town  ! 

The  wrath  of  God  hangs  over  thee  ;  and  the  day 

Is  near  at  hand  when  thou  shalt  be  abandoned 

To  desolation  and  the  breeding  of  nettles. 

The  bittern  and  the  cormorant  shall  lodge 

Upon  thine  upper  lintels,  and  their  voice 

Sing  in  thy  windows.     Yea,  thus  saith  the  Lord  ! 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Awake  !  awake  !  ye  sleepers,  ere  too  late, 
And  wipe  these  bloody  statutes  from  your  books  ! 

[Exit. 

MERRY. 

Take  heed  ;  the  walls  have  ears  ! 

UPSALL. 

At  last,  the  heart 
Of  every  honest  man  must  speak  or  break  ! 

Enter  GOVERNOR  ENDICOTT  'with  his  halberdiers. 
ENDICOTT. 

What  is  this  stir  and  tumult  in  the  street  ? 

MERRY. 

Worshipful  sir,  the  whipping  of  a  girl, 
And  her  old  father  howling  from  the  prison. 

ENDICOTT   (to  his  halberdiers'). 

Go  on. 


Sc.  II?J  John  Endicott.  73 

CHRISTISON. 

Antiochus  !  Antiochus ! 

O  thou  that  slayest  the  Maccabees  !     The  Lord 
Shall  smite  thee  with  incurable  disease, 
And  no  man  shall  endure  to  carry  thee ! 

MERRY. 
Peace,  old  blasphemer ! 

CHRISTISON. 

I  both  feel  and  see 

The  presence  and  the  waft  of  death  go  forth 
Against  thee,  and  already  thou  dost  look 
Like  one  that 's  dead ! 

MERRY   (pointing}. 

And  there  is  your  own  son, 
Worshipful  sir,  abetting  the  sedition. 

ENDICOTT. 
Arrest  him.     Do  not  spare  him. 

MERRY   (aside). 

His  own  child ! 

There  is  some  special  providence  takes  care 
That  none  shall  be  too  happy  in  this  world ! 
His  own  first-born ! 

ENDICOTT. 

O  Absalom,  my  son  ! 

[Exeunt;  the  GOVERNOR  with  his  halberdiers  ascending  the 

steps  of  his  house. 
4 


74  John  Endicott.  LAcT  IV- 


SCENE   III.     The  Governor's  private  room.     Papers  tipon 
the  table.    ENDICOTT  and  BELLINGHAM. 

ENDICOTT. 

There  is  a  ship  from  England  has  come  in, 
Bringing  despatches  and  much  news  from  home. 
His  Majesty  was  at  the  Abbey  crowned ; 
And  when  the  coronation  was  complete 
There  passed  a  mighty  tempest  o'er  the  city, 
Portentous  with  great  thunderings  and  lightnings. 

BELLINGHAM. 

After  his  father's,  if  I  well  remember, 

There  was  an  earthquake,  that  foreboded  evil. 

ENDICOTT. 

Ten  of  the  Regicides  have  been  put  to  death ! 
The  bodies  of  Cromwell,  Ireton,  and  Bradshaw 
Have  been  dragged  from  their  graves,  and  publicly 
Hanged  in  their  shrouds  at  Tyburn. 

BELLINGHAM. 

Horrible ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Thus  the  old  tyranny  revives  again ! 
Its  arm  is  long  enough  to  reach  us  here, 
As  you  will  see.     For,  more  insulting  still 
Than  flaunting  in  our  faces  dead  men's  shrouds, 
Here  is  the  King's  Mandamus,  taking  from  us, 
From  this  day  forth,  all  power  to  punish  Quakers. 


Sc.  in.]  John  Endicott.  75 


BELLINGHAM. 

That  takes  from  us  all  power ;  we  are  but  puppets, 
And  can  no  longer  execute  our  laws. 

ENDICOTT. 

His  Majesty  begins  with  pleasant  words, 
"  Trusty  and  well-beloved,  we  greet  you  well "  • 
Then  with  a  ruthless  hand  he  strips  from  me 
All  that  which  makes  me  what  I  am  ;  as  if 
From  some  old  general  in  the  field,  grown  gray 
In  service,  scarred  with  many  wounds, 
Just  at  the  hour  of  victory,  he  should  strip 
His  badge  of  office  and  his  well-gained  honors, 
And  thrust  him  back  into  the  ranks  again. 

Opens  the  Mandamus,  and  hands  it  to  BELLINGHAM  ;  and, 
while  he  is  reading,  ENDICOTT  -walks  up  and  down  the 
room. 

Here  read  it  for  yourself;  you  see  his  words 
Are  pleasant  words  —  considerate  —  not  reproach 
ful- 
Nothing  could  be  more  gentle  —  or  more  royal ; 
But  then  the  meaning  underneath  the  words, 
Mark  that.     He  says  all  people  known  as  Quakers 
Among  us,  now  condemned  to  suffer  death 
Or  any  corporal  punishment  whatever, 
Who  are  imprisoned,  or  may  be  obnoxious 
To  the  like  condemnation,  shall  be  sent 
Forthwith  to  England,  to  be  dealt  with  there 
In  such  wise  as  shall  be  agreeable 


76  John  Endicott.  [ACT  iv. 

Unto  the  English  law  and  their  demerits. 
Is  it  not  so  ? 

BELLINGHAM    (rettirning  the  paper}. 
Ay,  so  the  paper  says. 

ENDICOTT. 

It  means  we  shall  no  longer  rule  the  Province ; 

It  means  farewell  to  law  and  liberty, 

Authority,  respect  for  Magistrates, 

The  peace  and  welfare  of  the  Commonwealth. 

If  all  the  knaves  upon  this  continent 

Can  make  appeal  to  England,  and  so  thwart 

The  ends  of  truth  and  justice  by  delay, 

Our  power  is  gone  forever.     We  are  nothing 

But  ciphers,  valueless  save  when  we  follow 

Some  unit ;  and  our  unit  is  the  King  ! 

'T  is  he  that  gives  us  value. 

BELLINGHAM. 

I  confess 

Such  seems  to  be  the  meaning  of  this  paper. 
But  being  the  King's  Mandamus,  signed  and  sealed, 
We  must  obey,  or  we  are  in  rebellion. 

ENDICOTT. 

I  tell  you,  Richard  Bellingham,  —  I  tell  you, 
That  this  is  the  beginning  of  a  struggle 
Of  which  no  mortal  can  foresee  the  end. 
I  shall  not  live  to  fight  the  battle  for  you, 
I  am  a  man  disgraced  in  every  way ; 
This  order  takes  from  me  my  self-respect 


Sc.  iv.J  John  Endicott.  77 

And  the  respect  of  others.     'T  is  my  doom, 

Yes,  my  death-warrant,,  but  must  be  obeyed  ! 

Take  it,  and  see  that  it  is  executed 

So  far  as  this,  that  all  be  set  at  large ; 

But  see  that  none  of  them  be  sent  to  England 

To  bear  false  witness,  and  to  spread  reports 

That  might  be  prejudicial  to  ourselves. 

{Exit  BELLINGHAM. 

There  's  a  dull  pain  keeps  knocking  at  my  heart, 
Dolefully  saying,  "  Set  thy  house  in  order, 
For  thou  shalt  surely  die,  and  shalt  not  live !  " 
For  me  the  shadow  on  the  dial-plate 
Goeth  not  back,  but  on  into  the  dark ! 

[Exit. 


SCENE  IV.  The  street.  A  crowd,  reading  a  placard  on  the 
door  of  the  Meeting-house.  NICHOLAS  UPSALL  among 
them.  Enter  JOHN  NORTON. 

NORTON. 

What  is  this  gathering  here  ? 

UPSALL. 

One  William  Brand, 

An  old  man  like  ourselves,  and  weak  in  body, 
Has  been  so  cruelly  tortured  in  his  prison, 
The  people  are  excited,  and  they  threaten 
To  tear  the  prison  down. 


78  John  Endicott.  [ACT  IV. 

* 

NORTON. 

What  has  been  done  ? 

UPSALL. 

He  has  been  put  in  irons,  with  his  neck 
And  heels  tied  close  together,  and  so  left 
From  five  in  the  morning  until  nine  at  night. 

NORTON. 
What  more  was  done  ? 

UPSALL. 

He  has  been  kept  five  days 
In  prison  without  food,  and  cruelly  beaten, 
So  that  his  limbs  were  cold,  his  senses  stopped. 

NORTON. 
What  more  ? 

UPSALL. 

And  is  this  not  enough  ? 

NORTON. 

Now  hear  me. 

This  William  Brand  of  yours  has  tried  to  beat 
Our  Gospel  Ordinances  black  and  blue  ; 
And,  if  he  has  been  beaten  in  like  manner, 
It  is  but  justice,  and  I  will  appear 
In  his  behalf  that  did  so.     I  suppose 
That  he  refused  to  work. 

UPSALL. 

He  was  too  weak. 
How  could  an  old  man  work,  when  he  was  starving  ? 


Sc.  IV.]  John  Endicott.  79 

NORTON. 
And  what  is  this  placard  ? 

UPSALL. 

The  Magistrates, 

To  appease  the  people  and  prevent  a  tumult, 
Have  put  up  these  placards  throughout  the  town, 
Declaring  that  the  jailer  shall  be  dealt  with 
Impartially  and  sternly  by  the  Court. 

NORTON    (tearing  down  the  placard}. 

Down  with  this  weak  and  cowardly  concession, 

This  flag  of  truce  with  Satan  and  with  Sin ! 

I  fling  it  in  his  face !     I  trample  it 

Under  my  feet !     It  is  his  cunning  craft, 

The  masterpiece  of  his  diplomacy, 

To  cry  and  plead  for  boundless  toleration. 

But  toleration  is  the  first-born  child 

Of  all  abominations  and  deceits. 

There  is  no  room  in.  Christ's  triumphant  army 

For  tolerationists.     And  if  an  Angel 

Preach  any  other  gospel  unto  you 

Than  that  ye  have  received,  God's  malediction 

Descend  upon  him  !     Let  him  be  accursed  ! 

{Exit. 

UPSALL. 

Now,  go  thy  ways,  John  Norton !  go  thy  ways, 
Thou  Orthodox  Evangelist,  as  men  call  thee  ! 
But  even  now  there  cometh  out  of  England, 


8o  John  Endicott.  [Acriv. 

Like  an  o'ertaking  and  accusing  conscience, 
An  outraged  man,  to  call  thee  to  account 
For  the  unrighteous  murder  of  his  son ! 

[Ex*. 


SCENE  V.     The  Wilderness.    Enter  EDITH. 

EDITH. 

How  beautiful  are  these  autumnal  woods ! 
The  wilderness  doth  blossom  like  the  rose, 
And  change  into  a  garden  of  the  Lord ! 
How  silent  everywhere  !     Alone  and  lost 
Here  in  the  forest,  there  comes  over  me 
An  inward  awfulness.     I  recall  the  words 
Of  the  Apostle  Paul :  "  In  journeyings  often, 
Often  in  perils  in  the  wilderness, 
In  weariness,  in  painfulness,  in  watchings, 
In  hunger  and  thirst,  in  cold  and  nakedness  " 
And  I  forget  my  weariness  and  pain, 
My  watchings,  and  my  hunger  and  my  thirst. 
The  Lord  hath  said  that  he  will  seek  his  flock 
In  cloudy  and  dark  days,  and  they  shall  dwell 
Securely  in  the  wilderness,  and  sleep 
Safe  in  the  woods  !     Whichever  way  I  turn, 
I  come  back  with  my  face  towards  the  town. 
Dimly  I  see  it,  and  the  sea  beyond  it. 


Sc.  V.]  John  Endicott.  81 

0  cruel  town  !     I  know  what  waits  me  there, 
And  yet  I  must  go  back ;  for  ever  louder 

1  hear  the  inward  calling  of  the  Spirit, 

And  must  obey  the  voice.     O  woods,  that  wear 
Your  golden  crown  of  martyrdom,  blood-stained, 
From  you  I  learn  a  lesson  of  submission, 
And  am  obedient  even  unto  death, 
If  God  so  wills  it. 

{Exit. 

JOHN   ENDICOTT    (within}. 

Edith!  Edith!  Edith! 
He  enters. 

It  is  in  vain  !     I  call,  she  answers  not  j 

I  follow,  but  I  find  no  trace  of  her ! 

Blood !  blood !   The  leaves  above  me  and  around  me 

Are  red  with  blood  !     The  pathways  of  the  forest, 

The  clouds  that  canopy  the  setting  sun, 

And  even  the  little  river  in  the  meadows 

Are  stained  with  it !     Where'er  I  look,  I  see  it ! 

Away,  thou  horrible  vision !     Leave  me !  leave  me  ! 

Alas !  yon  winding  stream,  that  gropes  its  way 

Through  mist  and  shadow,  doubling  on  itself, 

At  length  will  find,  by  the  unerring  law 

Of  nature,  what  it  seeks.     O  soul  of  man, 

Groping  through  mist  and  shadow,  and  recoiling 

Back  on  thyself,  are,  too,  thy  devious  ways 

Subject  to  law?  and  when  thou  seemest  to  wander 


John  Endicott.  [ACT  IV. 

The  farthest  from  thy  goal,  art  thou  still  drawing 

Nearer  and  nearer  to  it,  till  at  length 

Thou  findest,  like  the  river,  what  thou  seekest  ? 

[Exit. 


END    OF   ACT   IV. 


Sc.  I.]  John  Endicott.  83 


ACT    V. 

SCENE  I.     Daybreak.     Street  in  front  of  UPSALL'S  house. 
A  light  in  the  window.    Enter  JOHN  ENDICOTT. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

O  silent,  sombre,  and  deserted  streets, 

To  me  ye  're  peopled  with  a  sad  procession, 

And  echo  only  to  the  voice  of  sorrow ! 

0  houses  full  of  peacefulness  and  sleep, 
Far  better  were  it  to  awake  no  more 

Than  wake  to  look  upon  such  scenes  again ! 
There  is  a  light  in  Master  Upsall's  window. 
The  good  man  is  already  risen,  for  sleep 
Deserts  the  couches  of  the  old. 

Knocks  at  UPSALL'S  door. 

UPSALL  (at  the  window}. 

Who  's  there  ? 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Am  I  so  changed  you  do  not  know  my  voice  ? 

UPSALL. 

1  know  you.     Have  you  heard  what  things  have 

happened  ? 

JOHN   ENDICOTT. 

I  have  heard  nothing. 

UPSALL. 

Stay ;  I  will  come  down. 


84  John  Endicott.  [ACT  V. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

I  am  afraid  some  dreadful  news  awaits  me  ! 
I  do  not  dare  to  ask,  yet  am  impatient 
To  know  the  worst.     O,  I  am  very  weary 
With  waiting  and  with  watching  and  pursuing  ! 

Enter  U  PS  ALL. 
UPSALL. 

Thank  God,  you  have  come  back  !     I  Ve  much  to 

tell  you. 
Where  have  you  been  ? 

JOHN   ENDICOTT. 

You  know  that  I  was  seized, 

Fined,  and  released  again.     You  know  that  Edith, 
After  her  scourging  in  three  towns,  was  banished 
Into  the  wilderness,  into  the  land 
That  is  not  sown ;  and  there  I  followed  her, 
But  found  her  not.     Where  is  she  ? 

UPSALL. 

She  is  here. 

JOHN   ENDICOTT. 

O,  do  not  speak  that  word,  for  it  means  death ! 

UPSALL. 

Yet  is  it  true.     She  sleeps  there  in  that  chamber. 
Listen  to  me.     When  news  of  Leddra's  death 
Reached  England,  Edward  Burroughs,  having  boldly 
Got  access  to  the  presence  of  the  King, 
Told  him  there  was  a  vein  of  innocent  blood 


Sc.  Ii.J  *jolm  iLnuitvit.  85 

Opened  in  his  dominions  here,  which  threatened 

To  overrun  them  all.     The  King  replied, 

"  But  I  will  stop  that  vein  !  "  and  he  forthwith 

Sent  his  Mandamus  to  our  Magistrates, 

That  they  proceed  no  further  in  this  business. 

So  all  are  pardoned,  and  all  set  at  large. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

Thank  God  !     This  is  a  victory  for  truth  ! 

Our  thoughts  are  free.     They  cannot  be  shut  up 

In  prison  walls,  nor  put  to  death  on  scaffolds  ! 

UPSALL. 

Come  in  ;  the  morning  air  blows  sharp  and  cold 
Through  the  damp  streets. 

JOHN    ENDICOTT. 

It  is  the  dawn  of  day 

That  chases  the  old  darkness  from  our  sky, 
And  fills  the  land  with  liberty  and  light. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE   II.     The  parlor  of  the    Three  Mariners.     Enter 
KEMPTHORN. 

KEMPTHORN. 

A  dull  life  this,  —a  dull  life  anyway  ! 
Ready  for  sea  ;  the  cargo  all  aboard, 
Cleared  for  Barbadoes,  and  a  fair  wind  blowing 
From  nor'-nor'-west ;  and  I,  an  idle  lubber, 


86  John  En  dice  tt.  [ACT  v. 

Laid  neck  and  heels  by  that  confounded  bond  ! 
I  said  to  Ralph,  says  I,  "  What  's  to  be  done  ? " 
Says  he  :  "Just  slip  your  hawser  in  the  night ; 
Sheer  off,  and  pay  it  with  the  topsail,  Simon." 
But  that  won't  do  ;  because,  you  see,  the  owners 
Somehow  or  other  are  mixed  up  with  it. 
Here  are  King  Charles's  Twelve  Good  Rules,  that 

Cole 

Thinks  as  important  as  the  Rule  of  Three.    (Reads.) 
"  Make  no  comparisons  ;  make  no  long  meals." 
Those  are  good  rules  and  golden  for  a  landlord 
To  hang  in  his  best  parlor,  framed  and  glazed  ! 
"  Maintain  no  ill  opinions  ;  urge  no  healths." 
I  drink  the  King's,  whatever  he  may  say, 
And,  as  to  ill  opinions,  that  depends. 
Now  of  Ralph  Goldsmith  I  Ve  a  good  opinion, 
And  of  the  bilboes  I  Ve  an  ill  opinion  ; 
And  both  of  these  opinions  I  '11  maintain 
As  long  as  there  's  a  shot  left  in  the  locker. 

Enter  EDWARD  BUTTER  with  an  ear-trumpet, 
BUTTER. 

Good  morning,  Captain  Kempthorn. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Sir,  to  you. 

You  Ve  the  advantage  of  me.     I  don't  know  you. 
What  may  I  call  your  name  ? 

BUTTER. 

That 's  not  your  name  ? 


Sc.  II.]  John  Endicott.  87 

KEMPTHORN. 

Yes,  that  's  my  name.     What  's  yours  ? 

BUTTER. 

My  name  is  Butter. 
I  am  the  treasurer  of  the  Commonwealth. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Will  you  be  seated  ? 

BUTTER. 

What  say  ?    Who  's  conceited  ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Will  you  sit  down  ? 

BUTTER. 

O,  thank  you. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Spread  yourself 
Upon  this  chair,  sweet  Butter. 

BUTTER   (sitting  down}. 

A  fine  morning. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Nothing  's  the  matter  with  it  that  I  know  of. 

I  have  seen  better,  and  I  have  seen  worse. 

The  wind 's  nor' west.     That 's  fair  for  them  that  sail. 

BUTTER. 

You  need  not  speak  so  loud  ;  I  understand  you. 
You  sail  to-day. 

KEMPTHORN. 

No,  I  don't  sail  to-day. 
So,  be  it  fair  or  foul,  it  matters  not. 
Say,  will  you  smoke  ?    There  's  choice  tobacco  here. 


88  John  Endicott.  [ACT  V. 

BUTTER. 

No,  thank  you.     It 's  against  the  law  to  smoke. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Then,  will  you  drink  ?     There 's  good  ale  at  this  inn. 

BUTTER. 

No,  thank  you.     It  's  against  the  law  to  drink. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Well,  almost  everything  's  against  the  law 

In  this  good  town.     Give  a  wide  berth  to  one  thing, 

You  're  sure  to  fetch  up  soon  on  something  else. 

BUTTER. 

And  so  you  sail  to-day  for  dear  Old  England. 
I  am  not  one  of  those  who  think  a  sup 
Of  this  New  England  air  is  better  worth 
Than  a  whole  draught  of  our  Old  England's  ale. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Nor  I.     Give  me  the  ale  and  keep  the  air. 
But,  as  I  said,  I  do  not  sail  to-day. 

BUTTER. 

Ah  yes  ;  you  sail  to-day. 

KEMPTHORN. 

I  'm  under  bonds 

To  take  some  Quakers  back  to  the  Barbadoes  j 
And  one  of  them  is  banished,  and  another 
Is  sentenced  to  be  hanged. 


Sc.  II.]  John  Endicott.  89 

BUTTER. 

No,  all  are  pardoned, 
All  are  set  free,  by  order  of  the  Court ; 
But  some  of  them  would  fain  return  to  England. 
You  must  not  take  them.     Upon  that  condition 
Your  bond  is  cancelled. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Ah,  the  wind  has  shifted  ! 
I  pray  you,  do  you  speak  officially  ? 

BUTTER. 

I  always  speak  officially.     To  prove  it, 
Here  is  the  bond. 

Rising,  and  giving  a  paper. 
KEMPTHORN. 

And  here  's  my  hand  upon  it. 
And,  look  you,  when  I  say  I  '11  do  a  thing 
The  thing  is  done.     Am  I  now  free  to  go  ? 

BUTTER. 

What  say? 

KEMPTHORN. 

I  say,  confound  the  tedious  man 
With  his  strange  speaking-trumpet !     Can  I  go  ? 

BUTTER. 

You  're  free  to  go,  by  order  of  the  Court. 
Your  servant,  sir. 

[Exit. 


90  John  Endicott.  [ACTV. 

KEMPTHORN   (shouting  from  the  window}. 
Swallow,  ahoy !     Hallo  ! 
If  ever  a  man  was  happy  to  leave  Boston, 
That  man  is  Simon  Kempthorn  of  the  Swallow ! 

Re-enter  BUTTER. 
BUTTER. 

Pray,  did  you  call  ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Call  ?    Yes,  I  hailed  the  Swallow. 

BUTTER. 

That 's  not  my  name.     My  name  is  Edward  Butter. 
You  need  not  speak  so  loud. 

KEMPTHORN    (shaking  hands]. 

Good  by !     Good  by  ! 

BUTTER. 

Your  servant,  sir. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And  yours  a  thousand  times  ! 
Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.  GOVERNOR  ENDICOTT'S  private  room.  An 
open  window.  ENDICOTT  seated  in  an  arm-chair.  BEL- 
LINGHAM  standing  near. 

ENDICOTT. 

O  lost,  O  loved !  wilt  thou  return  no  more  ? 

O  loved  and  lost,  and  loved  the  more  when  lost  1 


Sc.  ill.]  John  Endicott.  91 

How  many  men  are  dragged  into  their  graves 
By  their  rebellious  children  !     I  now  feel 
The  agony  of  a  father's  breaking  heart 
In  David's  cry,  "  O  Absalom,  my  son  !  " 

BELLINGHAM. 

Can  you  not  turn  your  thoughts  a  little  while 
To  public  matters  ?     There  are  papers  here 
That  need  attention. 

ENDICOTT. 

Trouble  me  no  more  ! 
My  business  now  is  with  another  world. 
Ah,  Richard  Bellingham  !  I  greatly  fear 
That  in  my  righteous  zeal  I  have  been  led 
To  doing  many  things  which,  left  undone, 
My  mind  would  now  be  easier.     Did  I  dream  it, 
Or  has  some  person  told  me,  that  John  Norton 
Is  dead? 

BELLINGHAM. 

You  have  not  dreamed  it.     He  is  dead, 
And  gone  to  his  reward.     It  was  no  dream. 

ENDICOTT. 

Then  it  was  very  sudden  ;  for  I  saw  him 
Standing  where  you  now  stand  not  long  ago. 

BELLINGHAM. 

By  his  own  fireside,  in  the  afternoon, 

A  faintness  and  a  giddiness  came  o'er  him ; 


92  John  Endicott.  [AcxV. 

And,  leaning  on  the  chimney-piece,  he  cried, 
"  The  hand  of  God  is  on  me ! "  and  fell  dead. 

E^TDICOTT. 

And  did  not  some  one  say,  or  have  I  dreamed  it, 
That  Humphrey  Atherton  is  dead  ? 

BELLINGHAM. 

Alas ! 

He  too  is  gone,  and  by  a  death  as  sudden. 
Returning  home  one  evening,  at  the  place 
Where  usually  the  Quakers  have  been  scourged, 
His  horse  took  fright,  and  threw  him  to  the  ground, 
So  that  his  brains  were  dashed  about  the  street. 

ENDICOTT. 

I  am  not  superstitious,  Bellingham, 
And  yet  I  tremble  lest  it  may  have  been 
A  judgment  on  him. 

BELLINGHAM. 

So  the  people  think. 

They  say  his  horse  saw  standing  in  the  way 
The  ghost  of  William  Leddra,  and  was  frightened. 
And  furthermore,  brave  Richard  Davenport, 
The  captain  of  the  Castle,  in  the  storm 
Has  been  struck  dead  by  lightning. 

ENDICOTT. 

Speak  no  more. 

For  as  I  listen  to  your  voice  it  seems 
As  if  the  Seven  Thunders  uttered  their  voices, 


Sc.  in.]  John  Endicott.  93 

And  the  dead  bodies  lay  about  the  streets 
Of  the  disconsolate  city  I     Bellingham, 
I  did  not  put  those  wretched  men  to  death. 
I  did  but  guard  the  passage  with  the  sword 
Pointed  towards  them,  and  they  rushed  upon  it ! 
Yet  now  I  would  that  I  had  taken  no  part 
In  all  that  bloody  work. 

BELLINGHAM. 

The  guilt  of  it 
Be  on  their  heads,  not  ours. 

ENDICOTT. 

Are  all  set  free  ? 

BELLINGHAM. 

All  are  at  large. 

ENDICOTT. 

And  none  have  been  sent  back 
To  England  to  malign  us  with  the  King  ? 

BELLINGHAM. 

The  ship  that  brought  them  sails  this  very  hour, 
But  carries  no  one  back. 

A  distant  cannon. 

ENDICOTT. 

What  is  that  gun  ? 

BELLINGHAM. 

Her  parting  signal.     Through  the  window  there, 


94  John  Endicott.  [AcrV. 

Look,  you  can  see  her  sails,  above  the  roofs, 
Dropping  below  the  Castle,  outward  bound. 

ENDICOTT. 

0  white,  white,  white !     Would  that  my  soul  had 

wings 

As  spotless  as  those  shining  sails  to  fly  with  ! 
Now  lay  this  cushion  straight.    I  thank  you.    Hark ! 

1  thought  I  heard  the  hall  door  open  and  shut ! 
I  thought  I  heard  the  footsteps  of  my  boy ! 

BELLINGHAM. 

It  was  the  wind.     There 's  no  one  in  the  passage. 

ENDICOTT. 

O  Absalom,  my  son !     I  feel  the  world 
Sinking  beneath  me,  sinking,  sinking,  sinking ! 
Death  knocks !  I  go  to  meet  him !  Welcome,  Death  ! 

Rises,  and  sinks  back  dead ;  his  head  falling  aside  upon  Jiis 
shoulder. 

BELLINGHAM. 

O  ghastly  sight !     Like  one  who  has  been  hanged  ! 
Endicott !  Endicott !     He  makes  no  answer  ! 

Raises  ENDICOTT'S  head. 

He  breathes  no  more !     How  bright  this  signet-ring 
Glitters  upon  his  hand,  where  he  has  worn  it 
Through  such  long  years  of  trouble,  as  if  Death 
Had  given  him  this  memento  of  affection, 


Sc.  III.]  John  Endicott.  95 

And  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  Remember  me  !  " 

How  placid  and  how  quiet  is  his  face, 

Now  that  the  struggle  and  the  strife  are  ended  ! 

Only  the  acrid  spirit  of  the  times 

Corroded  this  true  steel.     O,  rest  in  peace, 

Courageous  heart !     Forever  rest  in  peace  ! 


THE  END. 


II. 


GILES     COREY 


OF    THE    SALEM    FARMS, 


For  Costume,  see  DRAKE'S  History  of  Boston. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

GILES  COREY, Farmer. 

JOHN  HATHORNE, Magistrate. 

COITON  MATHER, Minister  of  the  Gospel. 

JONATHAN  WALCOT, a  youth. 

RICHARD  GARDNER, Sea-Captain. 

JOHN  GLOYD, Corey's  hired  man. 

MARTHA, wife  of  Giles  Corey. 

TlTUBA, an  Indian  woman. 

MARY  WALCOT, one  of  the  Afflicted. 

The  Scene  is  in  Salem  in  the  year  1692. 


PROLOGUE. 

DELUSIONS  of  the  days  that  once  have  been, 
Witchcraft  and  wonders  of  the  world  unseen, 
Phantoms  of  air,  and  necromantic  arts 
That   crushed    the   weak   and   awed   the   stoutest 

hearts,  — 

These  are  our  theme  to-night ;  and  vaguely  here, 
Through  the  dim  mists  that  crowd  the  atmosphere, 
We  draw  the  outlines  of  weird  figures  cast 
In  shadow  on  the  background  of  the  Past. 

Who  would  believe  that  in  the  quiet  town 
Of  Salem,  and  amid  the  woods  that  crown 
The  neighboring  hillsides,  and  the  sunny  farms 
That  fold  it  safe  in  their  paternal  arms,  — 
Who  would  believe  that  in  those  peaceful  streets, 
Where  the  great  elms  shut  out  the  summer  heats, 
Where  quiet  reigns,  and  breathes  through  brain  and 

breast 

The  benediction  of  unbroken  rest,  — 
Who  would  believe  such  deeds  could  find  a  place 
As  these  whose  tragic  history  we  retrace  ? 

'T  was  but  a  village  then  :  the  goodman  ploughed 
His  ample  acres  under  sun  or  cloud  ; 
The  goodwife  at  her  doorstep  sat  and  spun, 
And  gossiped  with  her  neighbors  in  the  sun ; 


11  L«  IC2  "  iV  v  -  ,> 


The  only  men  of  dignity  and  state 
Were  then  the  Minister  and  the  Magistrate, 
Who  ruled  their  little  realm  with  iron  rod, 
Less  in  the  love  than  in  the  fear  of  God  ; 
And  who  believed  devoutly  in  the  Powers 
Of  Darkness,  working  in  this  world  of  ours, 
In  spells  of  Witchcraft,  incantations  dread, 
And  shrouded  apparitions  of  the  dead. 

Upon  this  simple  folk  "  with  fire  and  flame," 
Saith  the  old  Chronicle,  "  the  Devil  came  ; 
Scattering  his  firebrands  and  his  poisonous  darts, 
To  set  on  fire  of  Hell  all  tongues  and  hearts  ! 
And  't  is  no  wonder  ;  for,  with  all  his  host, 
There  most  he  rages  where  he  hateth  most, 
And  is  most  hated  ;  so  on  us  he  brings 
All  these  stupendous  and  portentous  things  !  " 

Something  of  this  our  scene  to-night  will  show  ; 
And  ye  who  listen  to  the  Tale  of  Woe, 
Be  not  too  swift  in  casting  the  first  stone, 
Nor  think  New  England  bears  the  guilt  alone. 
This  sudden  burst  of  wickedness  and  crime 
Was  but  the  common  madness  of  the  time, 
When  in  all  lands,  that  lie  within  the  sound 
Of  Sabbath  bells,  a  Witch  was  burned  or  drowned. 


GILES     COREY 
OF    THE    SALEM    FARMS. 

ACT    I. 

SCENE  I.     The  woods  near  Salem  Village.     Enter  TITUBA, 
with  a  basket  of  herbs. 

TITUBA. 

Here  's  monk's-hood,  that  breeds  fever  in  the  blood; 
And  deadly  nightshade,  that  makes  men  see  ghosts ; 
And  henbane,  that  will  shake  them  with  convulsions ; 
And  meadow-saffron  and  black  hellebore, 
That  rack  the  nerves,  and  puff  the  skin  with  dropsy ; 
And  bitter-sweet,  and  briony,  and  eye-bright, 
That  cause  eruptions,  nosebleed,  rheumatisms  ; 
I  know  them,  and  the  places  where  they  hide 
In  field  and  meadow  ;  and  I  know  their  secrets, 
And  gather  them  because  they  give  me  power 
Over  all  men  and  women.     Armed  with  these, 
I,  Tituba,  an  Indian  and  a  slave, 
Am  stronger  than  the  captain  with  his  sword, 
Am  richer  than  the  merchant  with  his  money, 


104  Giles  Corey  [ACT  i. 

Am  wiser  than  the  scholar  with  his  books, 

Mightier  than  Ministers  and  Magistrates, 

With  all  the  fear  and  reverence  that  attend  them  ! 

For  I  can  fill  their  bones  with  aches  and  pains, 

Can  make  them  cough  with  asthma,  shake  with  palsy, 

Can  make  their  daughters  see  and  talk  with  ghosts, 

Or  fall  into  delirium  and  convulsions. 

I  have  the  Evil  Eye,  the  Evil  Hand  ; 

A  touch  from  me,  and  they  are  weak  with  pain, 

A  look  from  me,  and  they  consume  and  die. 

The  death  of  cattle  and  the  blight  of  corn, 

The  shipwreck,  the  tornado,  and  the  fire,  — 

These  are  my  doings,  and  they  know  it  not. 

Thus  I  work  vengeance  on  mine  enemies, 

Who,  while  they  call  me  slave,  are  slaves  to  me  ! 

Exit  TITUBA.     Enter  MATHER,   booted  and  spurred,   with 
a  riding-whip  in  his  hand. 

MATHER. 

Methinks  that  I  have  come  by  paths  unknown 
Into  the  land  and  atmosphere  of  Witches  ; 
For,  meditating  as  I  journeyed  on, 
Lo  !  I  have  lost  my  way !     If  I  remember 
Rightly,  it  is  Scribonius  the  learned 
That  tells  the  story  of  a  man  who,  praying 
For  one  that  was  possessed  by  Evil  Spirits, 
Was  struck  by  Evil  Spirits  in  the  face ; 
I,  journeying  to  circumvent  the  Witches, 
Surely  by  Witches  have  been  led  astray. 


Sc.  I.J  of  the  Salem  Farms.  105 

I  am  persuaded  there  are  few  affairs 
In  which  the  Devil  doth  not  interfere. 
We  cannot  undertake  a  journey  even, 
But  Satan  will  be  there  to  meddle  with  it 
By  hindering  or  by  furthering.     He  hath  led  me 
Into  this  thicket,  struck  me  in  the  face 
With  branches  of  the  trees,  and  so  entangled 
The  fetlocks  of  my  horse  with  vines  and  brambles, 
That  I  must  needs  dismount,  and  search  on  foot 
For  the  lost  pathway  leading  to  the  village. 
Re-enter  TITUBA. 

What  shape  is  this  ?     What  monstrous  apparition, 
Exceeding  fierce,  that  none  may  pass  that  way  ? 
Tell  me,  good  woman,  if  you  are  a  woman  — 

TITUBA. 

I  am  a  woman,  but  I  am  not  good. 
I  am  a  Witch  ! 

MATHER. 

Then  tell  me,  Witch  and  woman, 
For  you  must  know  the  pathways  through  this  wood, 
Where  lieth  Salem  Village  ? 

TITUBA. 

Reverend  sir, 

The  village  is  near  by.     I  'm  going  there 
With  these  few  herbs.     I  '11  lead  you.     Follow  me. 

MATHER. 

First  say,  who  are  you  ?     I  am  loath  to  follow 
A  stranger  in  this  wilderness,  for  fear 

5* 


io6  Giles  Corey  [ACT  I. 

Of  being  misled,  and  left  in  some  morass. 
Who  are  you  ? 

TITUBA. 

I  am  Tituba  the  Witch, 
Wife  of  John  Indian. 

MATHER. 

You  are  Tituba? 

I  know  you  then.     You  have  renounced  the  Devil, 
And  have  become  a  penitent  confessor. 
The  Lord  be  praised  !     Go  on,  I  '11  follow  you. 
Wait  only  till  I  fetch  my  horse,  that  stands 
Tethered  among  the  trees,  not  far  from  here. 

TITUBA. 
Let  me  get  up  behind  you,  reverend  sir. 

MATHER. 

The  Lord  forbid  !     What  would  the  people  think, 
If  they  should  see  the  Reverend  Cotton  Mather 
Ride  into  Salem  with  a  Witch  behind  him  ? 
The  Lord  forbid ! 

TITUBA. 

I  do  not  need  a  horse  ; 
I  can  ride  through  the  air  upon  a  stick, 
Above  the  tree-tops  and  above  the  houses, 
And  no  one  see  me,  no  one  overtake  me ! 

[£xeunt. 


Sc.  II. J  of  the  Salem  Farms.  107 


SCENE  II.    A  room  at  JUSTICE  HATHORNE'S.    A  dock  in 
the  corner.     Enter  HATHORNE  and  MATHER. 

HATHORNE. 

You  are  welcome,  reverend  sir,  thrice  welcome  here 
Beneath  my  humble  roof. 

MATHER. 

I  thank  your  Worship. 

HATHORNE. 

Pray  you  be  seated.     You  must  be  fatigued 
With  your  long  ride  through  unfrequented  woods. 

They  sit  down. 
MATHER. 

You  know  the  purport  of  my  visit  here,  — 

To  be  advised  by  you,  and  counsel  with  you, 

And  with  the  Reverend  Clergy  of  the  village, 

Touching  these  witchcrafts  that  so  much  afflict  you  j 

And  see  with  mine  own  eyes  the  wonders  told 

Of  spectres  and  the  shadows  of  the  dead, 

That  come  back  from  their  graves  to  speak  with  men. 

HATHORNE. 

Some  men  there  are,  I  have  known  such,  who  think 
That  the  two  worlds  —  the  seen  and  the  unseen, 
The  world  of  matter  and  the  world  of  spirit  — 
Are  like  the  hemispheres  upon  our  maps, 
And  touch  each  other  only  at  a  point. 


i  oS  Giles  Corey  [ACT  I. 

But  these  two  worlds  are  not  divided  thus, 
Save  for  the  purposes  of  common  speech. 
They  form  one  globe,  in  which  the  parted  seas 
All  flow  together  and  are  intermingled, 
While  the  great  continents  remain  distinct. 

MATHER. 

I  doubt  it  not.     The  spiritual  world 

Lies  all  about  us,  and  its  avenues 

Are  open  to  the  unseen  feet  of  phantoms 

That  come  and  go,  and  we  perceive  them  not 

Save  by  their  influence,  or  when  at  times 

A  most  mysterious  Providence  permits  them 

To  manifest  themselves  to  mortal  eyes. 

HATHORNE. 

You,  who  are  always  welcome  here  among  us, 
Are  doubly  welcome  now.     We  need  your  wisdom, 
Your  learning  in  these  things,  to  be  our  guide. 
The  Devil  hath  come  down  in  wrath  upon  us, 
And  ravages  the  land  with  all  his  hosts. 

MATHER. 

The  Unclean  Spirit  said,  "  My  name  is  Legion  !  " 

Multitudes  in  the  Valley  of  Destruction  ! 

But  when  our  fervent,  well-directed  prayers, 

Which  are  the  great  artillery  of  Heaven, 

Are  brought  into  the  field,  I  see  them  scattered 

And  driven  like  Autumn  leaves  before  the  wind. 

HATHORNE. 

You,  as  a  Minister  of  God,  can  meet  them 


Sc.  II.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  109 

With  spiritual  weapons  ;  but,  alas  ! 
I,  as  a  Magistrate,  must  combat  them 
With  weapons  from  the  armory  of  the  flesh. 

MATHER. 

These  wonders  of  the  world  invisible,  — 

These  spectral  shapes  that  haunt  our  habitations,  — 

The  multiplied  and  manifold  afflictions 

With  which  the  aged  and  the  dying  saints 

Have  their  death  prefaced  and  their  age  imbittered, — 

Are  but  prophetic  trumpets  that  proclaim 

The  Second  Coming  of  our  Lord  on  earth. 

The  evening  wolves  will  be  much  more  abroad, 

When  we  are  near  the  evening  of  the  world. 

HATHORNE. 

When  you  shall  see,  as  I  have  hourly  seen, 
The  sorceries  and  the  witchcrafts  that  torment  us, 
See  children  tortured  by  invisible  spirits, 
And  wasted  and  consumed  by  powers  unseen, 
You  will  confess  the  half  has  not  been  told  you. 

MATHER. 

It  must  be  so.     The  death-pangs  of  the  Devil 
Will  make  him  more  a  Devil  than  before, 
And  Nebuchadnezzar's  furnace  will  be  heated 
Seven  times  more  hot  before  its  putting  out. 

HATHORNE. 

Advise  me,  reverend  sir.     I  look  to  you 
For  counsel  and  for  guidance  in  this  matter. 
What  further  shall  we  do  ? 


no  Giles  Corey  [ACT  I. 

MATHER. 

Remember  this, 

That  as  a  sparrow  falls  not  to  the  ground 
Without  the  will  of  God,  so  not  a  Devil 
Can  come  down  from  the  air  without  his  leave. 
We  must  inquire. 

HATHORNE. 

Dear  sir,  we  have  inquired  ; 

Sifted  the  matter  thoroughly  through  and  through, 
And  then  resifted  it. 

MATHER. 

If  God  permits 

These  Evil  Spirits  from  the  unseen  regions 
To  visit  us  with  surprising  informations, 
We  must  inquire  what  cause  there  is  for  this, 
But  not  receive  the  testimony  borne 
By  spectres  as  conclusive  proof  of  guilt 
In  the  accused. 

HATHORNE. 

Upon  such  evidence 

We  do  not  rest  our  case.     The  ways  are  many 
In  which  the  guilty  do  betray  themselves. 

MATHER. 

Be  careful.     Carry  the  knife  with  such  exactness, 
That  on  one  side  no  innocent  blood  be  shed 
By  too  excessive  zeal,  and,  on  the  other 
No  shelter  given  to  any  work  of  darkness. 


Sc.  II.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  in 

HATHORNE. 

For  one,  I  do  not  fear  excess  of  zeal. 

What  do  we  gain  by  parleying  with  the  Devil  ? 

You  reason,  but  you  hesitate  to  act ! 

Ah,  reverend  sir  !  believe  me,  in  such  cases 

The  only  safety  is  in  acting  promptly. 

'T  is  not  the  part  of  wisdom  to  delay 

In  things  where  not  to  do  is  still  to  do 

A  deed  more  fatal  than  the  deed  we  shrink  from. 

You  are  a  man  of  books  and  meditation, 

But  I  am  one  who  acts. 

MATHER. 

God  give  us  wisdom 
In  the  directing  of  this  thorny  business, 
And  guide  us,  lest  New  England  should  become 
Of  an  unsavory  and  sulphurous  odor 
In  the  opinion  of  the  world  abroad  ! 

The  dock  strikes. 

I  never  hear  the  striking  of  a  clock 
Without  a  warning  and  an  admonition 
That  time  is  on  the  wing,  and  we  must  quicken 
Our  tardy  pace  in  journeying  Heavenward, 
As  Israel  did  in  journeying  Canaan-ward  ! 

They  rise. 
HATHORNE. 

Then  let  us  make  all  haste ;  and  I  will  show  you 
In  what  disguises  and  what  fearful  shapes 


112  Giles  Corey  [ACT  I. 

The  Unclean  Spirits  haunt  this  neighborhood, 
And  you  will  pardon  my  excess  of  zeal. 

MATHER. 

Ah,  poor  New  England  !     He  who  hurricanoed 

The  house  of  Job  is  making  now  on  thee 

One  last  assault,  more  deadly  and  more  snarled 

With  unintelligible  circumstances 

Than  any  thou  hast  hitherto  encountered  ! 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.    A  room  in  WALCOT'S  house.    MARY  WAL- 
COT  seated  in  an  arm-chair.     TITUBA  with  a  mirror. 

MARY. 

Tell  me  another  story,  Tituba. 
A  drowsiness  is  stealing  over  me 
Which  is  not  sleep  ;  for,  though  I  close  mine  eyes, 
I  am  awake,  and  in  another  world. 
Dim  faces  of  the  dead  and  of  the  absent 
Come  floating  up  before  me,  —  floating,  fading, 
And  disappearing. 

TITUBA. 

Look  into  this  glass. 
What  see  you  ? 

MARY. 

Nothing  but  a  golden  vapor. 


Sc.  ill.]  of  tJie  Salem  Farms.  113 

Yes,  something  more.     An  island,  with  the  sea 
Breaking  all  round  it,  like  a  blooming  hedge. 
What  land  is  this  ? 

TITUBA. 

It  is  San  Salvador, 
Where  Tituba  was  born.     What  see  you  now  ? 

MARY. 
A  man  all  black  and  fierce. 

TITUBA. 

That  is  my  father. 

He  was  an  Obi  man,  and  taught  me  magic,  — 
Taught  me  the  use  of  herbs  and  images. 
W7hat  is  he  doing  ? 

MARY. 

Holding  in  his  hand 
A  waxen  figure.     He  is  melting  it 
Slowly  before  a  fire. 

TITUBA. 

And  now  what  see  you  ? 

MARY. 

A  woman  lying  on  a  bed  of  leaves, 
Wasted  and  worn  away.     Ah,  she  is  dying ! 

TITUBA. 

That  is  the  way  the  Obi  men  destroy 
The  people  they  dislike  !     That  is  the  way 
Some  one  is  wasting  and  consuming  you. 

ii 


1 14  Giles  Corey  [ACT  I. 

MARY. 

You  terrify  me,  Tituba !     O,  save  me 

From  those  who  make  me  pine  and  waste  away ! 

Who  are  they  ?     Tell  me. 

TITUBA. 

That  I  do  not  know, 
But  you  will  see  them.     They  will  come  to  you. 

MARY. 

No,  do  not  let  them  come  !     I  cannot  bear  it ! 
I  am  too  weak  to  bear  it !     I  am  dying ! 

Falls  into  a  trance. 
TITUBA. 

Hark  !  there  is  some  one, coming ! 

Enter  HATHORNE,  MATHER,  and  WALCOT. 

WALCOT. 

There  she  lies, 

Wasted  and  worn  by  devilish  incantations  ! 
O  my  poor  sister  ! 

MATHER. 

Is  she  always  thus  ? 

WALCOT. 

Nay,  she  is  sometimes  tortured  by  convulsions. 

MATHER. 

Poor  child !     How  thin  she  is  !     How  wan  and 

wasted ! 


Sc.  in.]          of  the  Salem  Farms.  1 1 5 

HATHORNE. 

Observe  her.     She  is  troubled  in  her  sleep. 

MATHER. 

Some  fearful  vision  haunts  her. 

HATHORNE. 

You  now  see 

With  your  own  eyes,  and  touch  with  your  own  hands, 
The  mysteries  of  this  Witchcraft. 

MATHER. 

One  would  need 

The  hands  of  Briareus  and  the  eyes  of  Argus 
To  see  and  touch  them  all. 

HATHORNE. 

You  now  have  entered 

The  realm  of  ghosts  and  phantoms,  —  the  vast  realm 
Of  the  unknown  and  the  invisible, 
Through  whose  wide-open  gates  there  blows  a  wind 
From  the  dark  valley  of  the  shadow  of  Death, 
That  freezes  us  with  horror. 

MARY  (starting). 

Take  her  hence ! 

Take  her  away  from  me.     I  see  her  there  ! 
She  's  coming  to  torment  me  ! 

WALCOT  (taking  her  hand). 

O  my  sister ! 

What  frightens  you  ? .  She  neither  hears  nor  sees  me. 
She  's  in  a  trance. 


Ii6  Giles  Corey  [ACT  I. 

MARY. 

Do  you  not  see  her  there  ? 
TITUBA. 
My  child,  who  is  it  ? 

MARY. 

Ah,  I  do  not  know. 
I  cannot  see  her  face. 

TITUBA. 

How  is  she  clad  ? 

MARY. 

She  wears  a  crimson  bodice.     In  her  hand 
She  holds  an  image,  and  is  pinching  it 
Between  her  ringers.     Ah,  she  tortures  me  ! 
I  see  her  face  now.     It  is  Goodwife  Bishop  ! 
Why  does  she  torture  me  ?     I  never  harmed  her  ! 
And  now  she  strikes  me  with  an  iron  rod  ! 
O,  I  am  beaten  ! 

MATHER. 

This  is  wonderful ! 

I  can  see  nothing  !     Is  this  apparition 
Visibly  there,  and  yet  we  cannot  see  it  ? 

HATHORNE. 

It  is.     The  spectre  is  invisible 

Unto  our  grosser  senses,  but  she  sees  it. 

MARY. 

Look  !  look  !  there  is  another  clad  in  gray  ! 
She  holds  a  spindle  in  her  hand,  and  threatens 
To  stab  me  with  it !     It  is  Goodwife  Corey  ! 


Sc.  ill.]  of  the  Salem  Fan) is.  117 

Keep  her  away !     Now  she  is  coming  at  me  ! 
O  mercy  !  mercy  ! 

WALCOT    (thrusting  with  his  sword}. 

There  is  nothing  there  ! 

MATHER  (to  HATHORNE). 
Do  you  see  anything  ? 

HATHORNE. 

The  laws  that  govern 
The  spiritual  world  prevent  our  seeing 
Things  palpable  and  visible  to  her. 
These  spectres  are  to  us  as  if  they  were  not. 
Mark  her ;  she  wakes. 

TITUBA  touches  her,  and  she  awakes. 
MARY. 

Who  are  these  gentlemen  ? 

WALCOT. 
They  are  our  friends.     Dear  Mary,  are  you  better  ? 

MARY. 

Weak,  very  weak. 

Taking  a  spindle  from  her  lap,  and  holding  if  up. 

How  came  this  spindle  here  ? 

TITUBA. 

You  wrenched  it  from  the  hand  of  Goodwife  Corey 
When  she  rushed  at  you. 

HATHORNE. 

Mark  that,  reverend  sir  ! 


1 1 8  Giles  Corey  [ACT  I. 

MATHER. 

It  is  most  marvellous,  most  inexplicable  ! 

TITUBA  (picking  up  a  bit  of  gray  cloth  from  the  floor). 
And  here,  too,  is  a  bit  of  her  gray  dress, 
That  the  sword  cut  away. 

MATHER. 

Beholding  this, 

It  were  indeed  by  far  more  credulous 
To  be  incredulous  than  to  believe. 
None  but  a  Sadducee,  who  doubts  of  all 
Pertaining  to  the  spiritual  world, 
Could  doubt  such  manifest  and  damning  proofs ! 

HATHORNE. 

Are  you  convinced  ? 

MATHER  (to  Mary}. 

Dear  child,  be  comforted  ! 
Only  by  prayer  and  fasting  can  you  drive 
These  Unclean  Spirits  from  you.     An  old  man 
Gives  you  his  blessing.     God  be  with  you,  Mary  ! 


END    OF   ACT    I. 


So.  I.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  119 


A  C  T     1 1 . 

SCENE    I.      GILES    COREY'S  farm.      Morning.      Enter 
COREY,  -with  a  horseshoe  and  a  hammer. 

COREY. 

The  Lord  hath  prospered  me.     The  rising  sun 
Shines  on  my  Hundred  Acres  and  my  woods 
As  if  he  loved  them.    .  On  a  morn  like  this 
I  can  forgive  mine  enemies,  and  thank  God 
For  all  his  goodness  unto  me  and  mine. 
My  orchard  groans  with  russets  and  pearmains ; 
My  ripening  corn  shines  golden  in  the  sun ; 
My  barns  are  crammed  with  hay,  my  cattle  thrive  j 
The  birds  sing  blithely  on  the  trees  around  me ! 
And  blither  than  the  birds  my  heart  within  me, 
But  Satan  still  goes  up  and  down  the  earth ; 
And  to  protect  this  house  from  his  assaults, 
And  keep  the  powers  of  darkness  from  my  door, 
This  horseshoe  will  I  nail  upon  the  threshold.. 

Nails  down  the  horseshoe. 

There,  ye  night-hags  and  witches  that  torment 
The  neighborhood,  ye  shall  not  enter  here  !  — 
What  is  the  matter  in  the  field  ?  —  John  Gloyd  ! 
The  cattle  are  all  running  to  the  woods  !  — 
John  Gloyd  !     Where  is  the  man  ? 


1 20  Giles  Corey  [ACT  II. 

Enter  JOHN  GLOYD. 

Look  there ! 

What  ails  the  cattle  ?     Are  they  all  bewitched  ? 
They  run  like  mad. 

GLOYD. 

They  have  been  overlooked. 
COREY. 

The  Evil  Eye  is  on  them  sure  enough. 
Call  all  the  men.     Be  quick.     Go  after  them ! 
Exit  GLOYD  and  enter  MARTHA. 
MARTHA. 

What  is  amiss  ? 

COREY. 

The  cattle  are  bewitched. 
They  are  broken  loose  and  making  for  the  woods. 

MARTHA. 

Why  will  you  harbor  such  delusions,  Giles  ? 
Bewitched  ?    Well,  then  it  was  John  Gloyd  bewitched 

them  ; 

I  saw  him  even  now  take  down  the  bars 
And  turn  them  loose !     They  're  only  frolicsome. 

COREY. 
The  rascal ! 

MARTHA. 

I  was  standing  in  the  road, 
Talking  with  Goodwife  Proctor,  and  I  saw  him. 

COREY. 

With   Proctor's  wife  ?      And  what  says  Goodwife 
Proctor  ? 


Sc.  I.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  121 

MARTHA. 

Sad  things  indeed  ;  the  saddest  you  can  hear 
Of  Bridget  Bishop.     She  's  cried  out  upon  ! 

COREY. 

Poor  soul !     I  Ve  known  her  forty  year  or  more. 
She  was  the  widow  Wasselby  ;  and  then 
She  married  Oliver,  and  Bishop  next. 
She  's  had  three  husbands.     I  remember  well 
My  games  of  shovel-board  at  Bishop's  tavern 
In  the  old  merry  days,  and  she  so  gay 
With  her  red  paragon  bodice  and  her  ribbons ! 
Ah,  Bridget  Bishop  always  was  a  Witch ! 

MARTHA. 

They  '11  little  help  her  now,  — •  her  caps  and  ribbons, 
And  her  red  paragon  bodice,  and  her  plumes, 
With  which  she  flaunted  in  the  Meeting-house  ! 
When  next  she  goes  there,  it  will  be  for  trial. 

COREY. 
When  will  that  be  ? 

MARTHA. 

This  very  day  at  ten. 

COREY. 

Then  get  you  ready.     We  will  go  and  see  it. 
Come  ;  you  shall  ride  behind  me  on  the  pillion. 

MARTHA. 

Not  I.     You  know  I  do  not  like  such  things. 
I  wonder  you  should.     I  do  not  believe 
In  Witches  nor  in  Witchcraft. 
6 


122  Giles  Corey  [ACT  n. 

COREY. 

Well,  I  do. 

There  's  a  strange  fascination  in  it  all, 
That  draws  me  on  and  on,  I  know  not  why. 

MARTHA. 

What  do  we  know  of  spirits  good  or  ill, 

Or  of  their  power  to  help  us  or  to  harm  us  ? 

COREY. 

Surely  what  's  in  the  Bible  must  be  true. 
Did  not  an  Evil  Spirit  come  on  Saul  ? 
Did  not  the  Witch  of  Endor  bring  the  ghost 
Of  Samuel  from  his  grave  ?     The  Bible  says  so. 

MARTHA. 

That  happened  very  long  ago. 

COREY. 

With  God 
There  is  no  long  ago. 

MARTHA. 

There  is  with  us. 
COREY. 

And  Mary  Magdalene  had  seven  devils, 
And  he  who  dwelt  among  the  tombs  a  legion ! 

MARTHA. 

God's  power  is  infinite.     I  do  not  doubt  it. 
If  in  his  providence  he  once  permitted 
Such  things  to  be  among  the  Israelites, 
It  does  not  follow  he  permits  them  now, 
And  among  us  who  are  not  Israelites. 


Sc.  I.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  123 

But  we  will  not  dispute  about  it,  Giles. 

Go  to  the  village,  if  you  think  it  best, 

And  leave  me  here ;  I  '11  go  about  my  work. 

{Exit  into  tJ^  house. 
COREY. 

And  I  will  go  and  saddle  the  gray  mare. 
The  last  word  always.     That  is  woman's  nature. 
If  an  old  man  will  marry  a  young  wife, 
He  must  make  up  his  mind  to  many  things. 
It 's  putting  new  cloth  into  an  old  garment, 
When  the  strain  comes,  it  is  the  old  gives  way. 

Goes  to  the  door. 

0  Martha !     I  forgot  to  tell  you  something. 

1  Ve  had  a  letter  from  a  friend  of  mine, 
A  certain  Richard  Gardner  of  Nantucket, 
Master  and  owner  of  a  whaling-vessel ; 

He  writes  that  he  is  coming  down  to  see  us. 
I  hope  you  '11  like  him. 

MARTHA. 

I  will  do  my  best. 

COREY. 

That 's  a  good  woman.     Now  I  will  be  gone. 
I  Ve  not  seen  Gardner  for  this  twenty  year ; 
But  there  is  something  of  the  sea  about  him,  — 
Something  so  open,  generous,  large,  and  strong, 
It  makes  me  love  him  better  than  a  brother. 

{Exit. 


124  Giles  Corey  [ACT  n. 

MARTHA  comes  to  the  door. 
MARTHA. 

0  these  old  friends  and  cronies  of  my  husband, 
These  captains  from  Nantucket  and  the  Cape, 
That  come  and  turn  my  house  into  a  tavern 
With   their   carousing !      Still,   there  's   something 

frank 

In  these  seafaring  men  that  makes  me  like  them. 
Why,  here  's  a  horseshoe  nailed  upon  the  doorstep ! 
Giles  has  done  this  to  keep  away  the  Witches. 

1  hope  this  Richard  Gardner  will  bring  with  him 
A  gale  of  good  sound  common-sense,  to  blow 
The  fog  of  these  delusions  from  his  brain  ! 

COREY    (within}. 

Ho!  Martha!  Martha! 

Enter  COREY. 

Have  you  seen  my  saddle  ? 

MARTHA. 

I  saw  it  yesterday. 

COREY. 

Where  did  you  see  it  ? 

MARTHA. 

On  a  gray  mare,  that  somebody  was  riding 
Along  the  village  road. 

COREY. 

Who  was  it  ?     Tell  me. 

MARTHA. 

Some  one  who  should  have  stayed  at  home. 


Sc.  L]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  125 

COREY   (restraining  himself}. 

I  see! 
Don't  vex  me,  Martha.     Tell  me  where  it  is. 

MARTHA. 

I  've  hidden  it  away. 

COREY. 
Go  fetch  it  me. 

MARTHA. 

Go  find  it. 

COREY. 

No.     I  '11  ride  down  to  the  village 
Bare-back ;  and  when  the  people  stare  and  say, 
"  Giles  Corey,  where  's  your  saddle  ? "  I  will  answer, 
"  A  Witch  has  stolen  it."     How  shall  you  like  that  ? 

MARTHA. 

I  shall  not  like  it. 

COREY. 

Then  go  fetch  the  saddle. 

[Exit  MARTHA. 

If  an  old  man  will  marry  a  young  wife, 
Why  then — why  then  —  why  then — he  must  spell 
Baker!* 

Enter  MARTHA  with  the  saddle,  which  she  throws  down. 
MARTHA. 

There  !     There  's  the  saddle. 


*  A  local  expression  for  doing  anything  difficult.  In  the  old  spelling- 
books,  Baker  was  the  first  word  of  two  syllables,  and  when  a  child  came 
to  it  he  thought  he  had  a  hard  task  before  him. 


126  Giles  Corey  [ACT  II. 

COREY. 


Take  it  up. 

MARTHA. 


I  won't! 


COREY. 

Then  let  it  lie  there.     I  '11  ride  to  the  village, 
And  say  you  are  a  Witch. 

MARTHA. 

No,  not  that,  Giles. 
She  takes  up  the  saddle. 
COREY. 

Now  come  with  me,  and  saddle  the  gray  mare 
With  your  own  hands ;  and  you  shall  see  me  ride 
Along  the  village  road  as  is  becoming 
Giles  Corey  of  the  Salem  Farms,  your  husband ! 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.  The  Green  in  front  of  the  Meeting-house  in 
Salem  Village.  People  coming  and  going.  Enter  GILES 
COREY. 

COREY. 

A  melancholy  end  !     Who  would  have  thought 
That  Bridget  Bishop  e'er  would  come  to  this  ? 
Accused,  convicted,  and  condemned  to  death 
For  Witchcraft !     And  so  good  a  woman  too ! 


Sc.  II.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  127 

A    FARMER. 

Good  morrow,  neighbor  Corey. 

COREY    (not  hearing  him ) . 

Who  is  safe  ? 

How  do  I  know  but  under  my  own  roof 
I  too  may  harbor  Witches,  and  some  Devil 
Be  plotting  and  contriving  against  me  ? 

FARMER. 

He  does  not  hear.     Good  morrow,  neighbor  Corey  ! 

COREY. 
Good  morrow. 

FARMER. 

Have  you  seen  John  Proctor  lately  ? 

COREY. 

No,  I  have  not. 

FARMER. 

Then  do  not  see  him,  Corey. 

COREY. 

Why  should  I  not  ? 

FARMER. 

Because  he  's  angry  with  you. 
So  keep  out  of  his  way.     Avoid  a  quarrel. 

COREY. 
Why  does  he  seek  to  fix  a  quarrel  on  me  ? 

FARMER. 

He  says  you  burned  his  house. 


12-8  Giles  Corey  [ACT  II. 

COREY. 

I  burn  his  house  ? 

If  he  says  that,  John  Proctor  is  a  liar  ! 
The  night  his  house  was  burned  I  was  in  bed, 
And  I  can  prove  it !     Why,  we  are  old  friends  ! 
He  could  not  say  that  of  me. 

FARMER. 

He  did  say  it. 
I  heard  him  say  it. 

COREY. 
Then  he  shall  unsay  it. 

FARMER. 

He  said  you  did  it  out  of  spite  to  him 
For  taking  part  against  you  in  the  quarrel 
You  had  with  your  John  Gloyd  about  his  wages. 
He  says  you  murdered  Goodell ;  that  you  trampled 
Upon  his  body  till  he  breathed  no  more. 
And  so  beware  of  him  ;  that  's  my  advice ! 

{Exit. 
COREY. 

By  Heaven  !  this  is  too  much  !     I  '11  seek  him  out, 
And  make  him  eat  his  words,  or  strangle  him. 
I  '11  not  be  slandered  at  a  time  like  this, 
When  every  word  is  made  an  accusation, 
W7hen  every  whisper  kills,  and  every  man 
Walks  with  a  halter  round  his  neck  ! 
Enter  GLOYD  in  haste. 

What  now  ? 


Sc.  II.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  129 

GLOYD. 
I  came  to  look  for  you.     The  cattle  — 

COREY. 

Well, 
What  of  them  ?     Have  you  found  them  ? 

GLOYD. 

They  are  dead. 
I   followed   them  through   the  woods,   across   the 

meadows  ; 

Then  they  all  leaped  into  the  Ipswich  River, 
And  swam  across,  but  could  not  climb  the  bank, 
And  so  were  drowned. 

COREY. 

You  are  to  blame  for  this  ; 
For  you  took  down  the  bars,  and  let  them  loose. 

GLOYD. 

That  I  deny.     They  broke  the  fences  down. 
You  know  they  were  bewitched. 

COREY. 

Ah,  my  poor  cattle  ! 

The  Evil  Eye  was  on  them  ;  that  is  true. 
Day  of  disaster  !     Most  unlucky  day  ! 
Why  did  I  leave  my  ploughing  and  my  reaping 
To  plough  and  reap  this  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  ? 
O,  I  could  drown  myself  for  sheer  vexation  ! 

[Exit. 
6*  i 


130  Giles  Corey  [ACT  1 1. 

GLOYD. 

He  's  going  for  his  cattle.     He  won't  find  them. 
By  this  time  they  have  drifted  out  to  sea. 
They  will  not  break  his  fences  any  more, 
Though  they  may  break  his  heart   And  what  care  I  ? 

{Exit. 


SCENE    III.       COREY'S    kitchen.      A    table    with    supper. 
MARTHA   knitting. 

MARTHA. 

He  's  come  at  last.     I  hear  him  in  the  passage. 
Something  has  gone  amiss  with  him  to-day ; 
I  know  it  by  his  step,  and  by  the  sound 
The  door  made  as  he  shut  it.     He  is  angry. 

Enter  COREY  with  his  riding-whip.     As  he  speaks,  he  takes 
off  his  hat  and  gloves,  and  throws  thein  down  violently. 

COREY. 

I  say  if  Satan  ever  entered  man 
He 's  in  John  Proctor  ! 

MARTHA. 

Giles,  what  is  the  matter  ? 
You  frighten  me. 

•  COREY. 

I  say  if  any  man 

Can  have  a  Devil  in  him,  then  that  man 
Is  Proctor,  —  is  John  Proctor,  and  no  other ! 


Sc.  in.]  of  the  Salem  Fawns.  131 

MARTHA. 

Why,  what  has  he  been  doing  ? 

COREY. 

Everything  ! 
What  do  you  think  I  heard  there  in  the  village  ? 

MARTHA. 

I  'm  sure  I  cannot  guess.     What  did  you  hear  ? 

COREY. 
He  says  I  burned  his  house  ! 

MARTHA. 

Does  he  say  that  ? 

COREY. 

He  says  I  burned  his  house.     I  was  in  bed 
And  fast  asleep  that  night ;  and  I  can  prove  it. 

MARTHA. 

If  he  says  that,  I  think  the  Father  of  Lies 
Is  surely  in  the  man. 

COREY. 

He  does  say  that, 

And  that  I  did  it  to  wreak  vengeance  on  him 
For  taking  sides  against  me  in  the  quarrel 
I  had  with  that  John  Gloyd  about  his  wages. 
And  God  knows  that  I  never  bore  him  malice 
For  that,  as  I  have  told  him  twenty  times  ! 

MARTHA. 

It  is  John  Gloyd  has  stirred  him  up  to  this. 
I  do  not  like  that  Gloyd.     I  think  him  crafty, 


I32  Giles  Corey  [ACT  II. 

Not  to  be  trusted,  sullen,  and  untruthful. 

Come,  have  your  supper.    You  are  tired  and  hungry. 

COREY. 

I  'm  angry,  and  not  hungry. 

MARTHA. 

Do  eat  something. 
You  '11  be  the  better  for  it. 

COREY    (sitting  down). 

I  'm  not  hungry. 

MARTHA. 

Let  not  the  sun  go  down  upon  your  wrath. 

COREY. 

It  has  gone  down  upon  it,  and  will  rise 
To-morrow,  and  go  down  again  upon  it. 
They  have  trumped  up  against  me  the  old  story 
Of  causing  Goodell's  death  by  trampling  on  him. 

MARTHA. 

O,  that  is  false.     I  know  it  to  be  false. 

COREY. 

He  has  been  dead  these  fourteen  years  or  more. 
Why  can't  they  let  him  rest  ?     Why  must  they  drag 

him 

Out  of  his  grave  to  give  me  a  bad  name  ? 
I  did  not  kill  him.     In  his  bed  he  died, 
As  most  men  die,  because  his  hour  had  come. 
I  have  wronged  no  man.     Why  should  Proctor  say 


Sc.  in.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  133 

Such  things  about  me  ?     I  will  not  forgive  him 

Till  he  confesses  he  has  slandered  me. 

Then,  I  've  more  trouble.     All  my  cattle  gone. 

MARTHA. 

They  will  come  back  again. 

COREY. 

Not  in  this  world. 

Did  I  not  tell  you  they  were  overlooked  ? 
They  ran  down  through  the  woods,  into  the  meadows, 
And  tried  to  swim  the  river,  and  were  drowned. 
It  is  a  heavy  loss. 

MARTHA. 

I  'm  sorry  for  it. 

COREY. 

All  my  dear  oxen  dead.     I  loved  them,  Martha, 

Next  to  yourself.     I  liked  to  look  at  them, 

And  watch  the  breath  come  out  of  their  wide  nostrils, 

And  see  their  patient  eyes.     Somehow  I  thought 

It  gave  me  strength  only  to  look  at  them. 

And  how  they  strained  their  necks  against  the  yoke 

If  I  but  spoke,  or  touched  them  with  the  goad  ! 

They  were  my  friends  ;  and  when  Gloyd  came  and 

told  me 
They  were   all  drowned,   I  could   have   drowned 

myself 

From  sheer  vexation  j  and  I  said  as  much 
To  Gloyd  and  others. 


1 34  Giles  Corey  [ACT  II. 

MARTHA. 

Do  not  trust  John  Gloyd 
With  anything  you  would  not  have  repeated. 

COREY. 

As  I  came  through  the  woods  this  afternoon, 
Impatient  at  my  loss,  and  much  perplexed 
With  all  that  I  had  heard  there  in  the  village, 
The  yellow  leaves  lit  up  the  trees  about  me, 
Like  an  enchanted  palace,  and  I  wished 
I  knew  enough  of  magic  or  of  Witchcraft 
To  change  them  into  gold.     Then  suddenly 
A  tree  shook  down  some  crimson  leaves  upon  me, 
Like  drops  of  blood,  and  in  the  path  before  me 
Stood  Tituba  the  Indian,  the  old  crone. 

MARTHA. 

Were  you  not  frightened  ? 

COREY. 

No,  I  do  not  think 

I  know  the  meaning  of  that  word.     Why  frightened  ? 
I  am  not  one  of  those  who  think  the  Lord 
Is  waiting  till  he  catches  them  some  day 
In  the  back  yard  alone  !     What  should  I  fear  ? 
She  started  from  the  bushes  by  the  path, 
And  had  a  basket  full  of  herbs  and  roots 
For  some  witch -broth  or  other,  —  the  old  hag ! 

MARTHA. 

She  has  been  here  to-day. 


Sc.  ill.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  135 

COREY. 

With  hand  outstretched 

She  said  :  "  Giles  Corey,  will  you  sign  the  Book  ? " 
"  Avaunt ! "  I  cried  :  "  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan  ! " 
At  which  she  laughed  and  left  me.     But  a  voice 
Was  whispering  in  my  ear  continually  : 
"  Self-murder  is  no  crime.     The  life  of  man 
Is  his,  to  keep  it  or  to  throw  away !  " 

MARTHA. 

'T  was  a  temptation  of  the  Evil  One  ! 
Giles,   Giles !    why  will    you    harbor   these   dark 
thoughts  ? 

COREY  (rising). 
I  am  too  tired  to  talk.     I  '11  go  to  bed. 

MARTHA. 

First  tell  me  something  about  Bridget  Bishop. 
How  did  she  look  ?   You  saw  her  ?   You  were  there  ? 

COREY. 

I  '11  tell  you  that  to-morrow,  not  to-night. 
I  '11  go  to  bed. 

MARTHA. 

First  let  us  pray  together. 

COREY. 
I  cannot  pray  to-night. 

MARTHA. 

Say  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
And  that  will  comfort  you. 


136  Giles  Corey  [ACT  II. 

COREY. 

I  cannot  say, 

"  As  we  forgive  those  that  have  sinned  against  us," 
When  I  do  not  forgive  them. 

MARTHA  (kneeling  on  the  hearth}. 

God  forgive  you  ! 

COREY. 

I  will  not  make  believe !     I  say,  to-night 

There  's  something  thwarts  me  when  I  wish  to  pray, 

And  thrusts  into  my  mind,  instead  of  prayers, 

Hate  and  revenge,  and  things  that  are  not  prayers. 

Something  of  my  old  self,  —  my  old,  bad  life,  — 

And  the  old  Adam  in  me,  rises  up, 

And  will  not  let  me  pray.     I  am  afraid 

The  Devil  hinders  me.     You  know  I  say 

Just  what  I  think,  and  nothing  more  nor  less, 

And,  when  I  pray,  my  heart  is  in  my  prayer. 

I  cannot  say  one  thing  and  mean  another. 

If  I  can't  pray,  I  will  not  make  believe  ! 

[Exit  COREY.     MARTHA  continues  kneeling. 


END    OF    ACT    II. 


Sc.  I.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  137 


ACT   III. 

SCENE   I.     GILES  COREY'S  kitchen.     Morning.     COREY 
and  MARTHA  sitting  at  the  breakfast-table. 

COREY  (rising). 

Well,  now  I  Ve  told  you  all  I  saw  and  heard 
Of  Bridget  Bishop  ;  and  I  must  be  gone. 

MARTHA. 

Don't  go  into  the  village,  Giles,  to  day. 

Last  night  you  came  back  tired  and  out  of  humor. 

COREY. 

Say,  angry ;  say,  right  angry.     I  was  never 
In  a  more  devilish  temper  in  my  life. 
All  things  went  wrong  wltk  me. 

MARTHA. 

You  were  much  vexed  ; 
So  don't  go  to  the  village. 

COREY    (going). 

No,  I  won't. 

I  won't  go  near  it.     We  are  going  to  mow 
The  Ipswich  meadows  for  the  aftermath, 
The  crop  of  sedge  and  rowens. 

MARTHA. 

Stay  a  moment. 


138  Giles   Corey  [ACT  III. 

I  want  to  tell  you  what  I  dreamed  last  night. 
Do  you  believe  in  dreams  ? 

COREY. 

Why,  yes  and  no. 

When  they  come  true,  then  I  believe  in  them ; 
When  they  come  false,  I  don't  believe  in  them. 
But  let  me  hear.  What  did  you  dream  about  ? 

MARTHA. 

I  dreamed  that  you  and  I  were  both  in  prison ; 
That  we  had  fetters  on  our  hands  and  feet ; 
That  we  were  taken  before  the  Magistrates, 
And  tried  for  Witchcraft,  and  condemned  to  death ! 
I  wished  to  pray  ;  they  would  not  let  me  pray ; 
You  tried  to  comfort  me,  and  they  forbade  it. 
But  the  most  dreadful  thing  in  all  my  dream 
Was  that  they  made  you  testify  against  me  ! 
And  then  there  came  a  kind  of  mist  between  us  ; 
I  could  not  see  you ;  and  I  woke  in  terror. 
I  never  was  more  thankful  in  my  life 
Than  when  I  found  you  sleeping  at  my  side  ! 

COREY   (with  tenderness). 

It  was  our  talk  last  night  that  made  you  dream. 
I  'm  sorry  for  it.     I  '11  control  myself 
Another  time,  and  keep  my  temper  down ! 
I  do  not  like  such  dreams.  —  Remember,  Martha, 
I  'm  going  to  mow  the  Ipswich  River  meadows  ; 
If  Gardner  comes,  you  '11  tell  him  where  to  find  me. 

[Exit. 


Sc.  II.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  139 

MARTHA. 

So  this  delusion  grows  from  bad  to  worse. 
First,  a  forsaken  and  forlorn  old  woman, 
Ragged  and  wretched,  and  without  a  friend ; 
Then  something  higher.    Now  it 's  Bridget  Bishop  ; 
God  only  knows  whose  turn  it  will  be  next ! 
The  Magistrates  are  blind,  the  people  mad  ! 
If  they  would  only  seize  the  Afflicted  Children, 
And  put  them  in  the  Workhouse,  where  they  should 

be, 
There  'd  be  an  end  of  all  this  wickedness. 

{Exit. 


SCENE  II.     A  street  in  Salem  Village.     Enter  MATHER  and 
HATHORNE. 

MATHER. 

Yet  one  thing  troubles  me. 

HATHORNE. 

And  what  is  that  ? 

MATHER. 

May  not  the  Devil  take  the  outward  shape 
Of  innocent  persons  ?     Are  we  not  in  danger, 
Perhaps,  of  punishing  some  who  are  not  guilty  ? 

HATHORNE. 

As  I  have  said,  we  do  not  trust  alone 
To  spectral  evidence. 


140  Giles  Corey  [ACT  III. 

MATHER. 

And  then  again, 

If  any  shall  be  put  to  death  for  Witchcraft, 
We  do  but  kill  the  body,  not  the  soul. 
The  Unclean  Spirits  that  possessed  them  once 
Live  still,  to  enter  into  other  bodies. 
What  have  we  gained  ?     Surely,  there  's  nothing 
gained. 

HATHORNE. 

Doth  not  the  Scripture  say,  "  Thou  shalt  not  suffer 
A  Witch  to  live  "  ? 

MATHER. 

The  Scripture  sayeth  it, 

But  speaketh  to  the  Jews  ;  and  we  are  Christians. 
What  say  the  laws  of  England  ? 

HATHORNE. 

They  make  Witchcraft 
Felony  without  the  benefit  of  Clergy. 
Witches  are  burned  in  England.    You  have  read  — 
For  you  read  all  things,  not  a  book  escapes  you  — 
The  famous  Demonology  of  King  James  ? 

MATHER. 

A  curious  volume.     I  remember  also 

The  plot  of  the  Two  Hundred,  with  one  Fian, 

The  Registrar  of  the  Devil,  at  their  head, 

To  drown  his  Majesty  on  his  return 

From  Denmark  ;  how  they  sailed  in  sieves  or  riddles 

Unto  North  Berwick  Kirk  in  Lothian, 


Sc.  II.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  141 

And,  landing  there,  danced  hand  in  hand,  and  sang, 
"  Goodwife,  go  ye  before  !  goodwife,  go  ye  ! 
If  ye  '11  not  go  before,  goodwife,  let  me  !  " 
While  Geilis  Duncan  played  the  Witches'  Reel 
Upon  a  jews-harp. 

HATHORNE. 

Then  you  know  full  well 

The  English  law,  and  that  in  England  Witches, 
When  lawfully  convicted  and  attainted, 
Are  put  to  death. 

MATHER. 

When  lawfully  convicted  ; 
That  is  the  point. 

HATHORNE. 

You  heard  the  evidence 
Produced  before  us  yesterday  at  the  trial 
Of  Bridget  Bishop. 

MATHER. 

One  of  the  Afflicted, 
I  know,  bore  witness  to  the  apparition 
Of  ghosts  unto  the  spectre  of  this  Bishop, 
Saying,  "You  murdered  us  !  "  of  the  truth  whereof 
There  was  in  matter  of  fact  too  much  suspicion. 

HATHORNE. 

And  when  she  cast  her  eyes  on  the  Afflicted, 
They  were  struck  down  ;  and  this  in  such  a  manner 
There  could  be  no  collusion  in  the  business. 
And  when  the  accused  but  laid  her  hand  upon  them, 


142  Giles  Corey  [ACT  in. 

As  they  lay  in  their  swoons,  they  straight  revived, 
Although  they  stirred  not  when  the  others  touched 
them. 

MATHER. 

What  most  convinced  me  of  the  woman's  guilt 
Was  finding  hidden  in  her  cellar  wall 
Those  poppets  made  of  rags,  with  headless  pins 
Stuck  into  them  point  outwards,  and  whereof 
She  could  not  give  a  reasonable  account. 

HATHORNE. 

When  you  shall  read  the  testimony  given 
Before  the  Court  in  all  the  other  cases, 
I  am  persuaded  you  will  find  the  proof 
No  less  conclusive  than  it  was  in  this. 
Come,  then,  with  me,  and  I  will  tax  your  patience 
With  reading  of  the  documents  so  far 
As  may  convince  you  that  these  sorcerers 
Are  lawfully  convicted  and  attainted. 
Like  doubting  Thomas,  you  shall  lay  your  hand 
"Upon  these  wounds,  and  you  will  doubt  no  more. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.     A  room  in  COREY'S  house.     MARTHA  and 
two  Deacons  of  the  church. 

MARTHA. 

Be  seated.     I  am  glad  to  see  you  here. 

I  know  what  you  are  come  for.     You  are  come 


Sc.  in.]  of  the  Salem  Fan  f  is.  143 

To  question  me,  and  learn  from  my  own  lips 
If  I  have  any  dealings  with  the  Devil  j 
In  short,  if  I  'm  a  Witch. 

DEACON    (sitting  down). 

Such  is  our  purpose. 
How  could  you  know  beforehand  why  we  came  ? 

MARTHA. 

'T  was  only  a  surmise. 

DEACON. 

We  came  to  ask  you, 
You  being  with  us  in  church  covenant, 
Wliat  part  you  have,  if  any,  in  these  matters. 

MARTHA. 

And  I  make  answer,  No  part  whatsoever. 
I  am  a  farmer's  wife,  a  working  woman  ; 
You  see  my  spinning-wheel,  you  see  my  loom, 
You  know  the  duties  of  a  farmer's  wife, 
And  are  not  ignorant  that  my  life  among  you 
Has  been  without  reproach  until  this  day. 
Is  it  not  true  ? 

DEACON. 

So  much  we  're  bound  to  own ; 
And  say  it  frankly,  and  without  reserve. 

MARTHA. 

I  Ve  heard  the  idle  tales  that  are  abroad  ; 
I  've  heard  it  whispered  that  I  am  a  Witch  j 
I  cannot  help  it.     I  do  not  believe 
In  any  Witchcraft.     It  is  a  delusion. 


144  Giles  Corey  [ACT  III. 

DEACON. 

How  can  you  say  that  it  is  a  delusion, 

When  all  our  learned  and  good  men  believe  it  ?  — 

Our  Ministers  and  worshipful  Magistrates  ? 

MARTHA. 

Their  eyes  are  blinded,  and  see  not  the  truth. 
Perhaps  one  day  they  will  be  open  to  it. 

DEACON. 

You  answer  boldly.     The  Afflicted  Children 
Say  you  appeared  to  them. 

MARTHA. 

And  did  they  say 
What  clothes  I  came  in  ? 

DEACON. 

No,  they  could  not  tell. 
They  said  that  you  foresaw  our  visit  here, 
And  blinded  them,  so  that  they  could  not  see 
The  clothes  you  wore. 

MARTHA. 

The  cunning,  crafty  girls  ! 
I  say  to  you,  in  all  sincerity, 
I  never  have  appeared  to  any  one 
In  my  own  person.     If  the  Devil  takes 
My  shape  to  hurt  these  children,  or  afflict  them, 
I  am  not  guilty  of  it.     And  I  say 
It 's  all  a  mere  delusion  of  the  senses. 


Sc.  III.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  145 

DEACON". 

I  greatly  fear  that  you  will  find  too  late 
It  is  not  so. 

MARTHA  (rising). 

They  do  accuse  me  falsely. 
It  is  delusion,  or  it  is  deceit. 
There  is  a  story  in  the  ancient  Scriptures 
Which  much  I  wonder  comes  not  to  your  minds. 
Let  me  repeat  it  to  you. 

DEACON". 

We  will  hear  it. 

MARTHA. 

It  came  to  pass  that  Naboth  had  a  vineyard 
Hard  by  the  palace  of  the  King  called  Ahab. 
And  Ahab,  King  of  Israel,  spake  to  Naboth, 
And  said  to  him,  Give  unto  me  thy  vineyard, 
That  I  may  have  it  for  a  garden  of  herbs, 
And  I  will  give  a  better  vineyard  for  it, 
Or,  if  it  seemeth  good  to  thee,  its  worth 
In  money.     And  then  Naboth  said  to  Ahab, 
The  Lord  forbid  it  me  that  I  should  give 
The  inheritance  of  my  fathers  unto  thee. 
And  Ahab  came  into  his  house  displeased 
And  heavy  at  the  words  which  Naboth  spake, 
And  laid  him  down  upon  his  bed,  and  turned 
His  face  away ;  and  he  would  eat  no  bread. 
And  Jezebel,  the  wife  of  Ahab,  came 
And  said  to  him,  Why  is  thy  spirit  sacl  ? 

7  J 


146  Giles  Corey  [Acr  III. 

And  he  said  unto  her,  Because  I  spake 

To  Naboth,  to  the  Jezreelite,  and  said, 

Give  me  thy  vineyard ;  and  he  answered,  saying, 

I  will  not  give  my  vineyard  unto  thee. 

And  Jezebel,  the  wife  of  Ahab,  said, 

Dost  thou  not  rule  the  realm  of  Israel  ? 

Arise,  eat  bread,  and  let  thy  heart  be  merry ; 

I  will  give  Naboth's  vineyard  unto  thee. 

So  she  wrote  letters  in  King  Ahab's  name, 

And  sealed  them  with  his  seal,  and  sent  the  letters 

Unto  the  elders  that  were  in  his  city 

Dwelling  with  Naboth,  and  unto  the  nobles ; 

And  in  the  letters  wrote,  Proclaim  a  fast ; 

And  set  this  Naboth  high  among  the  people, 

And  set  two  men,  the  sons  of  Belial, 

Before  him,  to  bear  witness  and  to  say, 

Thou  didst  blaspheme  against  God  and  the  King ; 

And  carry  him  out  and  stone  him,  that  he  die  ! 

And  the  elders  and  the  nobles  of  the  city 

Did  even  as  Jezebel,  the  wife  of  Ahab, 

Had  sent  to  them  and  written  in  the  letters. 

And  then  it  came  to  pass,  when  Ahab  heard 

Naboth  was  dead,  that- Ahab  rose  to  go 

Down  unto  Naboth's  vineyard,  and  to  take 

Possession  of  it.     And  the  word  of  God 

Came  to  Elijah,  saying  to  him,  Arise, 

Go  down  to  meet  the  King  of  Israel 

In  Naboth's  vineyard,  whither  he  hath  gone 

To  take  possession.     Thou  shalt  speak  to  him, 


Sc.  iv.J  of  the  Salem  Farms.  147 

Saying,  Thus  saith  the  Lord  !     What !  hast  thou 

killed 

And  also  taken  possession  ?     In  the  place 
Wherein  the  dogs  have  licked  the  blood  of  Naboth 
Shall  the  dogs  lick  thy  blood,  —  ay,  even  thine  ! 

Both  of  the  Deacons  start  from  their  seats. 

And  Ahab  then,  the  King  of  Israel, 
Said,  Hast  thou  found  me,  O  mine  enemy  ? 
Elijah  the  Prophet  answered,  I  have  found  thee  ! 
So  will  it  be  with  those  who  have  stirred  up 
The  Sons  of  Belial  here  to  bear  false  witness 
And  swear  away  the  lives  of  innocent  people  ; 
Their  enemy  will  find  them  out  at  last, 
The  Prophet's  voice  will  thunder,  I  have  found 
thee  ! 

{Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.     Meadows  on  Ipswich  River.     COREY  and  his 
men  mowing ;  COREY  in  advance. 

COREY. 

Well  done,  my  men.     You  see,  I  lead  the  field  ! 
I  'm  an  old  man,  but  I  can  swing  a  scythe 
Better  than  most  of  you,  though  you  be  younger. 

Hangs  his  scythe  upon  a  tree. 


148  Giles  Corey  [Acx  III. 

GLOYD   (aside  to  the  others). 
How  strong  he  is  !     It  's  supernatural. 
No  man  so  old  as  he  is  has  such  strength. 
The  Devil  helps  him  ! 

COREY   (wiping  his  forehead}. 

Now  we  '11  rest  awhile, 

And  take  our  nooning.    What 's  the  matter  with  you  ? 
You  are  not  angry  with  me,  —  are  you,  Gloyd  ? 
Come,  come,  we  will  not  quarrel.     Let 's  be  friends. 
It  's  an  old  story,  that  the  Raven  said, 
"Read  the  Third  of  Colossians  and  fifteenth." 

GLOYD. 

You  're  handier  at  the  scythe,  but  I  can  beat  you 
At  wrestling. 

COREY. 

Well,  perhaps  so.  I  don't  know. 
I  never  wrestled  with  you.  Why,  you  're  vexed  ! 
Come,  come,  don't  bear  a  grudge. 

GLOYD. 

You  are  afraid. 

COREY. 

What  should  I  be  afraid  of  ?     All  bear  witness 
The  challenge  comes  from  him.    Now,  then,  my  man. 
They  wrestle,  and  GLOYD  is  thrown. 
ONE   OF   THE   MEN. 

That  's  a  fair  fall. 

ANOTHER. 

'T  was  nothing  but  a  foil ! 


Sc.  IV.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  149 

OTHERS. 
You  've  hurt  him  ! 

COREY   (helping  GLOYD  rise). 

No  ;  this  meadow-land  is  soft. 
You  're  not  hurt,  —  are  you,  Gloyd  ? 

GLOYD    (rising). 

No,  not  much  hurt ! 

COREY. 

Well,  then,  shake  hands  ;  and  there  's  an  end  of  it. 
How  do  you  like  that  Cornish  hug,  my  lad  ? 
And  now  we  '11  see  what 's  in  our  basket  here. 

GLOYD    (aside). 

The  Devil  and  all  his  imps  are  in  that  man  ! 
The  clutch  of  his  ten  fingers  burns  like  fire  ! 

COREY   (reverentially  taking  off  his  hat)- 
God  bless  the  food  he  hath  provided  for  us, 
And  make  us  thankful  for  it,  for  Christ's  sake ! 

He  lifts  up  a  keg  of  cider,  and  drinks  from  it. 

GLOYD. 

Do  you  see  that  ?    Don't  tell  me  it 's  not  Witchcraft. 
Two  of  us  could  not  lift  that  cask  as  he  does  ! 

COREY  puts  down  the  keg,  and  opens  a  basket.     A  voice  is 
heard  calling. 

VOICE. 

PIo  !  Corey,  Corey  ! 


150  Giles  Corey  [ACT  III. 

COREY. 

What  is  that  ?     I  surely 
Heard  some  one  calling  me  by  name  ! 

VOICE. 

Giles  Corey ! 

Enter  a  boy,  running,  and  out  of  breath. 
BOY. 

Is  Master  Corey  here  ? 

COREY. 

Yes,  here  I  am. 
BOY. 
O  Master  Corey ! 

COREY. 
Well? 

BOY. 

Your  wife  —  your  wife  — 

COREY. 
What 's  happened  to  my  wife  ? 

BOY. 

She  's  sent  to  prison  ! 

COREY. 

The  dream  !  the  dream  !     O  God,  be  merciful ! 

BOY. 

She  sent  me  here  to  tell  you. 


Sc.  IV.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  1 5  I 

COREY    (putting  on  his  jacket}. 

Where  's  my  horse  ? 

Don't  stand  there  staring,  fellows.     Where  's  my 
horse  ? 

[Exit  COREY. 

GLOYD. 

Under  the  trees  there.     Run,  old  man,  run,  run  ! 
You  Ve  got  some  one  to  wrestle  with  you  now 
\Vho  '11  trip  your  heels  up,  with  your  Cornish  hug. 
If  there 's  a  Devil,  he  has  got  you  now. 
Ah,  there  he  goes  ! .  His  horse  is  snorting  fire  ! 

ONE    OF    THE    MEN. 

John  Gloyd,  don't  talk  so  !     It 's  a  shame  to  talk  so ! 
He  's  a  good  master,  though  you  quarrel  with  him. 

GLOYD. 

If  hard  work  and  low  wages  make  good  masters, 
Then  he  is  one.     But  I  think  otherwise. 
Come,  let  us  have  our  dinner  and  be  merry, 
And  talk  about  the  old  man  and  the  Witches. 
I  know  some  stories  that  will  make  you  laugh. 

They  sit  dcnvn  on  the  grass,  and  eat. 

Now  there  are  Goody  Cloyse  and  Goody  Good, 
Who  have  not  got  a  decent  tooth  between  them, 
And  yet  these  children  —  the  Afflicted  Children  — 
Say  that  they  bite  them,  and  show  marks  of  teeth 
Upon  their  arms  ! 


I $2  Giles  Corey  [ACT  III. 

ONE    OF    THE    MEN. 

That  makes  the  wonder  greater. 
That  's  Witchcraft.     Why,  if  they  had  teeth  like 

yours, 
'T  would  be  no  wonder  if  the  girls  were  bitten ! 

GLOYD. 

And  then  those  ghosts  that  come  out  of  their  graves 
And  cry,  "  You  murdered  us  !  you  murdered  us  !  " 

ONE    OF    THE    MEN. 

And  all  those  Apparitions  that  stick  pins 
Into  the  flesh  of  the  Afflicted  Children ! 

GLOYD. 

O  those  Afflicted  Children  !     They  know  well 
Where  the  pins  come  from.     I  can  tell  you  that. 
And  there  's  old  Corey,  he  has  got  a  horseshoe 
Nailed  on  his  doorstep  to  keep  off  the  Witches, 
And  all  the  same  his  wife  has  gone  to  prison. 

ONE    OF   THE    MEN. 

O,  she  's  no  Witch.     I  '11  swear  that  Goodwife  Corey 
Never  did  harm  to  any  living  creature. 
She  's  a  good  woman,  if  there  ever  was  one. 

GLOYD. 

Well,  we  shall  see.     As  for  that  Bridget  Bishop, 
She  has  been  tried  before ;  some  years  ago 
A  negro  testified  he  saw  her  shape 
Sitting  upon  the  rafters  in  a  barn, 


Sc.  IV.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  1 5  3 

And  holding  in  its  hand  an  egg  ;  and  while 
He  went  to  fetch  his  pitchfork,  she  had  vanished. 
And  now  be  quiet,  will  you  ?     I  am  tired, 
And  want  to  sleep  here  on  the  grass  a  little. 

They  stretch  themselves  on  the  grass. 
ONE  OF  THE  MEX. 

There  may  be  Witches  riding  through  the  air 
Over  our  heads  on  broomsticks  at  this  moment, 
Bound  for  some  Satan's  Sabbath  in  the  woods 
To  be  baptized. 

GLOYD. 

I  wish  they  'd  take  you  with  them, 
And  hold  you  under  water,  head  and  ears, 
Till  you  were  drowned  ;  and  that  would  stop  your 

talking, 
If  nothing  else  will.     Let  me  sleep,  I  say. 


END    OF    ACT    III. 


154  Giles  Corey  [ACT  IV. 


ACT    IV. 

SCENE  I.     The  Green  in  front  of  the  village  Meeting-house. 
An  excited  crowd  gathering.     Enter  JOHN  GLOYD. 

A    FARMER. 

Who  will  be  tried  to-day  ? 

A    SECOND. 

I  do  not  know. 
Here  is  John  Gloyd.     Ask  him  ;  he  knows. 

FARMER. 

John  Gloyd, 
Whose  turn  is  it  to-day  ? 

GLOYD. 

It  Js  Goodwife  Corey's. 

FARMER. 

Giles  Corey's  wife  ? 

GLOYD. 

The  same.     She  is  not  mine. 
It  will  go  hard  with  her  with  all  her  praying. 
The  hypocrite  !     She  's  always  on  her  knees  ; 
But  she  prays  to  the  Devil  when  she  prays. 
Let  us  go  in. 

A  trumpet  blows. 

FARMER. 

Here  come  the  Magistrates. 


Sc.  I.J  of  the  Salem  Farms.  155 

SECOND   FARMER. 

Who  's  the  tall  man  in  front  ? 

GLOYD. 

O,  that  is  Hathorne, 

A  Justice  of  the  Court,  and  Quartermaster 
In  the  Three  County  Troop.     He  '11  sift  the  matter. 
That  's  Corwin  with  him  ;  and  the  man  in  black 
Is  Cotton  Mather,  Minister  of  Boston. 

Enter  HATHORNE  and  other  Magistrates  on  horseback,  folloived 
by  the  Sheriff,  constables,  and  attendants  on  foot.  The 
Magistrates  dismount,  and  enter  the  Meeting-house,  with 
the  rest. 

FARMER. 

The  Meeting-house  is  full.     I  never  saw 
So  great  a  crowd  before. 

GLOYD. 

No  matter.     Come. 

We  shall  find  room  enough  by  elbowing 
Our  way  among  them.     Put  your  shoulder  to  it. 

FARMER. 

There  were  not  half  so  many  at  the  trial 
Of  Goodwife  Bishop. 

GLOYD. 

Keep  close  after  me. 

I  '11  find  a  place  for  you.     They  '11  want  me  there. 
I  am  a  friend  of  Corey's,  as  you  know, 
And  he  can't  do  without  me  just  at  present. 

[Exeunt. 


156  Giles  Corey  [ACT  IV. 


SCENE  II.  Interior  of  the  Meeting-house.  MATHER  and 
the  Magistrates  seated  in  front  of  the  pidpit.  Before  them 
a  raised  platform.  MARTHA  in  chains.  COREY  near 
her.  MARY  WALCOT  in  a  chair.  A  crowd  of  spectators, 
among  them  GLOYD.  Confusion  and  murmurs  during  the 
scene. 

HATHORNE. 

Call  Martha  Corey. 

MARTHA. 

I  am  here. 

HATHORNE. 

Come  forward. 

She  ascends  the  platform. 

The  Jurors  of  our  Sovereign  Lord  and  Lady 
The  King  and  Queen,  here  present,  do  accuse  you 
Of  having  on  the  tenth  of  June  last  past, 
And  divers  other  times  before  and  after, 
Wickedly  used  and  practised  certain  arts 
Called  Witch  crafts.  Sorceries,  and  Incantations, 
Against  one  Mary  Walcot,  single  woman, 
Of  Salem  Village  ;  by  which  wicked  arts 
The  aforesaid  Mary  Walcot  was  tormented, 
Tortured,  afflicted,  pined,  consumed,  and  wasted, 
Against  the  peace  of  our  Sovereign  Lord  and  Lady 
The  King  and  Queen,  as  well  as  of  the  Statute 
Made  and  provided  in  that  case.     What  say  you  ? 


Sc.  II.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  157 

MARTHA. 

Before  I  answer,  give  me  leave  to  pray. 

HATHORNE. 

We  have  not  sent  for  you,  nor  are  we  here, 
To  hear  you  pray,  but  to  examine  you 
In  whatsoever  is  alleged  against  you. 
Why  do  you  hurt  this  person  ? 

MARTHA. 

I  do  not. 
I  am  not  guilty  of  the  charge  against  me. 

MARY. 

Avoid,  she-devil !     You  torment  me  now  ! 
Avoid,  avoid,  Witch ! 

MARTHA. 

I  am  innocent. 

I  never  had  to  do  with  any  Witchcraft 
Since  I  was  born.     I  am  a  gospel  woman. 

MARY. 
You  are  a  gospel  Witch  ! 

MARTHA  (clasping  her  hands1). 

Ah  me !  ah  me  ! 
O,  give  me  leave  to  pray  ! 

MARY  (stretching  out  her  hands). 

She  hurts  me  now. 
See,  she  has  pinched  my  hands  ! 

HATHORNE. 

Who  made  these  marks 
Upon  her  hands  ? 


158  Giles  Corey  [ACT  IV. 

MARTHA. 

I  do  not  know.     I  stand 
Apart  from  her.     I  did  not  touch  her  hands. 

HATHORNE. 

Who  hurt  her  then  ? 

MARTHA. 

I  know  not. 

HATHORNE. 

Do  you  think 
She  is  bewitched  ? 

MARTHA. 

Indeed  I  do  not  think  so. 
I  am  no  Witch,  and  have  no  faith  in  Witches. 

HATHORNE. 

Then  answer  me  :  When  certain  persons  came 
To  see  you  yesterday,  how  did  you  know 
Beforehand  why  they  came  ? 

MARTHA. 

I  had  had  speech, 

The  children  said  I  hurt  them,  and  I  thought 
These  people  came  to  question  me  about  it. 

HATHORNE. 

How  did  you  know  the  children  had  been  told 
To  note  the  clothes  you  wore  ? 

MARTHA. 

My  husband  told  me 
What  others  said  about  it. 


Sc.  II.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  159 

HATHORNE. 

Goodman  Corey, 
Say,  did  you  tell  her  ? 

COREY. 

I  must  speak  the  truth  j 
I  did  not  tell  her.     It  was  some  one  else. 

HATHORNE. 

Did  you  not  say  your  husband  told  you  so  ? 

How  dare  you  tell  a  lie  in  this  assembly  ? 

Who  told  you  of  the  clothes  ?     Confess  the  truth. 

MARTHA  bites  her  lips,  and  is  silent. 
You  bite  your  lips,  but  do  not  answer  me  ! 

MARY. 

Ah,  she  is  biting  me  !     Avoid,  avoid  ! 

HATHORNE. 

You  said  your  husband  told  you. 

MARTHA. 

Yes,  he  told  me 
The  children  said  I  troubled  them. 

HATHORNE. 

Then  tell  me, 
Why  do  you  trouble  them  ? 

MARTHA. 

I  have  denied  it. 

MARY. 

She  threatened  me ;  stabbed  at  me  with  her  spindle ; 
And,  when  my  brother  thrust  her  with  his  sword, 


160  Giles  Corey  [ACT  IV. 

He  tore  her  gown,  and  cut  a  piece  away. 
Here  are  they  both,  the  spindle  and  the  cloth. 

Shows  them. 
HATHORNE. 

And  there  are  persons  here  who  know  the  truth 
Of  what  has  now  been  said.   What  answer  make  you  ? 

MARTHA. 

I  make  no  answer.     Give  me  leave  to  pray. 

HATHORNE. 

Whom  would  you  pray  to  ? 

MARTHA. 

To  my  God  and  Father. 

HATHORNE. 

Who  is  your  God  and  Father  ? 

MARTHA. 

The  Almighty ! 

HATHORNE. 

Doth  he  you  pray  to  say  that  he  is  God  ? 
It  is  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  and  not  God. 

MARY. 
There  is  a  dark  shape  whispering  in  her  ear. 

HATHORNE. 

What  does  he  say  to  you  ? 

MARTHA. 

I  see  no  shape. 


Sc.  II.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  161 

HATHORNE. 

Did  you  not  hear  it  whisper  ? 

MARTHA. 

I  heard  nothing. 

MARY. 

What  torture  !     Ah,  what  agony  I  suffer ! 
Falls  into  a  swoon. 
HATHORNE. 

You  see  this  woman  cannot  stand  before  you. 

If  you  would  look  for  mercy,  you  must  look 

In  God's  way,  by  confession  of  your  guilt. 

Why  does  your  spectre  haunt  and  hurt  this  person  ? 

MARTHA. 

I  do  not  know.     He  who  appeared  of  old 
In  Samuel's  shape,  a  saint  and  glorified, 
May  come  in  whatsoever  shape  he  chooses. 
I  cannot  help  it.     I  am  sick  at  heart ! 

COREY. 

0  Martha,  Martha !  let  me  hold  your  hand. 

HATHORNE. 

No ;  stand  aside,  old  man. 

MARY    (starting  tip}. 

Look  there  !     Look  there  ! 

1  see  a  little  bird,  a  yellow  bird, 
Perched  on  her  finger ;  and  it  pecks  at  me. 
Ah,  it  will  tear  mine  eyes  out ! 


1 62  Giles  Corey  [ACT  IV. 

MARTHA. 

I  see  nothing. 

HATHORNE. 

'T  is  the  Familiar  Spirit  that  attends  her. 

MARY. 

Now  it  has  flown  away.     It  sits  up  there 
Upon  the  rafters.     It  is  gone ;  is  vanished. 

MARTHA. 

Giles,  wipe  these  tears  of  anger  from  mine  eyes. 
Wipe  the  sweat  from  my  forehead.     I  am  faint. 

She  leans  against  the  railing. 
MARY. 

O,  she  is  crushing  me  with  all  her  weight  ! 

HATHORNE. 

Did  you  not  carry  once  the  Devil's  Book 
To  this  young  woman  ? 

MARTHA. 

Never. 

HATHORNE. 

Have  you  signed  it, 
Or  touched  it .' 

MARTHA. 

No  ;  I  never  saw  it. 

HATHORNE. 

Did  you  not  scourge  her  with  an  iron  rod  ? 

MARTHA. 

No,  I  did  not     If  any  Evil  Spirit 


Sc.  II.]  of  the  Saltni  Farms.  163 

Has  taken  my  shape  to  do  these  evil  deeds, 
I  cannot  help  it.     I  am  innocent. 

HATHORNE. 

Did  you  not  say  the  Magistrates  were  blind  ? 
That  you  would  open  their  eyes  ? 

MARTHA    ('with  a  scornful  laugh}. 

Yes,  I  said  that ; 

If  you  call  me  a  sorceress,  you  are  blind  ! 
If  you  accuse  the  innocent,  you  are  blind ! 
Can  the  innocent  be  guilty  ? 

HATHORNE. 

Did  you  not 

On  one  occasion  hide  your  husband's  saddle 
To  hinder  him  from  coming  to  the  Sessions  ? 

MARTHA. 

I  thought  it  was  a  folly  in  a  farmer 

To  waste  his  time  pursuing  such  illusions. 

HATHORNE. 

What  was  the  bird  that  this  young  woman  saw 
Just  now  upon  your  hand  ? 

MARTHA. 

.  I  know  no  bird. 

HATHORNE. 

Have  you  not  dealt  with  a  Familiar  Spirit  ? 

MARTHA. 

No,  never,  never  ! 


164  Giles  Corey  [ACT  IV. 

HATHORNE. 

What  then  was  the  Book 

You  showed  to  this  young  woman,  and  besought  her 
To  write  in  it  ? 

MARTHA. 

Where  should  I  have  a  book  ? 
I  showed  her  none,  nor  have  none. 

MARY. 

The  next  Sabbath 

Is  the  Communion-Day,  but  Martha  Corey 
Will  not  be  there  ! 

MARTHA. 

Ah,  you  are  all  against  me. 
What  can  I  do  or  say  ? 

HATHORNE. 

You  can  confess. 

MARTHA. 

No,  I  cannot,  for  I  am  innocent. 

HATHORNE. 

We  have  the  proof  of  many  witnesses 
That  you  are  guilty. 

MARTHA. 

Give  me  leave  to  speak. 
Will  you  condemn  me  on  such  evidence,  — 
You  who  have  known  me  for  so  many  years  ? 
Will  you  condemn  me  in  this  house  of  God, 
Where  I  so  long  have  worshipped  with  you  all  ? 


Sc.  II J  of  the  Salem  Farms.  165 

Where  I  have  eaten  the  bread  and  drunk  tha  wine 
So  many  times  at  our  Lord's  Table  with  you  ? 
Bear  witness,  you  that  hear  me  ;  you  all  know 
That  I  have  led  a  blameless  life  among  you, 
That  never  any  whisper  of  suspicion 
Was  breathed  against  me  till  this  accusation. 
And  shall  this  count  for  nothing  ?     Will  you  take 
My  life  away  from  me,  because  this  girl, 
Who  is  distraught,  and  not  in  her  right  mind, 
Accuses  me  of  things  I  blush  to  name  ? 

HATHORXE. 

What !  is  it  not  enough  ?     Would  you  hear  more  ? 
Giles  Corey  ! 

COREY. 
I  am  here. 

HATHORXE. 

Come  forward,  then. 
COREY  ascends  the  platform. 

Is  it  not  true,  that  on  a  certain  night 
You  were  impeded  strangely  in  your  prayers  ? 
That  something  hindered  you  ?  and  that  you  left 
This  woman  here,  your  wife,  kneeling  alone 
Upon  the  hearth  ? 

COREY. 
Yes  ;  I  cannot  deny  it. 

HATHORXE. 

Did  you  not  say  the  Devil  hindered  you  ? 


1 66  Giles  Corey  [ACT  IV. 

COREY. 
I  think  I  said  some  words  to  that  effect. 

HATHORNE. 

Is  it  not  true,  that  fourteen  head  of  cattle, 
To  you  belonging,  broke  from  their  enclosure 
And  leaped  into  the  river,  and  were  drowned  ? 

COREY. 
It  is  most  true. 

HATHORNE. 

And  did  you  not  then  say 
That  they  were  overlooked  ? 

COREY. 

So  much  I  said. 

I  see  ;  they  're  drawing  round  me  closer,  closer, 
A  net  I  cannot  break,  cannot  escape  from !  (Aside.) 

HATHORNE. 

Who  did  these  things  ? 

COREY. 

I  do  not  know  who  did  them. 

HATHORNE. 

Then  I  will  tell  you.     It  is  some  one  near  you  ; 
You  see  her  now ;  this  woman,  your  own  wife. 

COREY. 

I  call  the  heavens  to  witness,  it  is  false  ! 
She  never  harmed  me,  never  hindered  me 
In  anything  but  what  I  should  not  do. 
And  I  bear  witness  in  the  sight  of  heaven, 
And  in  God's  house  here,  that  I  never  knew  her 


Sc.  II.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  167 

As  otherwise  than  patient,  brave,  and  true, 

Faithful,  forgiving,  full  of  charity, 

A  virtuous  and  industrious  and  good  wife  ! 

HATHORNE. 

Tut,  tut,  man ;  do  not  rant  so  in  your  speech  ; 

You  are  a  witness,  not  an  advocate  ! 

Here,  Sheriff,  take  this  woman  back  to  prison. 

MARTHA. 

0  Giles,  this  day  you  Ve  sworn  away  my  life  ! 

MARY. 

Go,  go  and  join  the  Witches  at  the  door. 
Do  you  not  hear  the  drum  ?    Do  you  not  see  them? 
Go  quick.    They  're  waiting  for  you.    You  are  late. 
[Exit  MARTHA  ;  COREY  following. 

COREY. 

The  dream  !  the  dream  !  the  dream  ! 

HATHORNE. 

What  does  he  say  ? 

Giles  Corey,  go  not  hence.     You  are  yourself 
Accused  of  Witchcraft  and  of  Sorcery 
By  many  witnesses.     Say,  are  you  guilty  ? 

COREY. 

1  know  my  death  is  foreordained  by  you,  — 
Mine  and  my  wife's.     Therefore  I  will  not  answer. 

During  the  rest  of  the  scene  he  remains  silent. 


1 68  Giles  Corey  [ACT  iv. 

HATHORNE. 

Do  you  refuse  to  plead  ?  —  'T  were  better  for  you 
To  make  confession,  or  to  plead  Not  Guilty.  — 
Do  you  not  hear  me  ?  —  Answer,  are  you  guilty  ? 
Do  you  not  know  a  heavier  doom  awaits  you, 
If  you  refuse  to  plead,  than  if  found  guilty  ? 
Where  is  John  Gloyd  ? 

GLOYD    (coming forward}. 

Here  am  I. 

HATHORNE. 

Tell  the  Court; 

Have  you  not  seen  the  supernatural  power 
Of  this  old  man  ?     Have  you  not  seen  him  do 
Strange  feats  of  strength  ? 

GLOYD. 

I  Ve  seen  him  lead  the  field, 
On  a  hot  day,  in  mowing,  and  against 
Us  younger  men  ;  and  I  have  wrestled  with  him. 
He  threw  me  like  a  feather.     I  have  seen  him 
Lift  up  a  barrel  with  his  single  hands, 
Which  two  strong  men  could  hardly  lift  together, 
And,  holding  it  above  his  head,  drink  from  it. 

HATHORNE. 

That  is  enough  ;  we  need  not  question  further. 
What  answer  do  you  make  to  this,  Giles  Corey  ? 

MARY. 
See  there  !     See  there  ! 


Sc.  II.]  of  tJie  Salem  Farms.  169 

HATHORNE. 

What  is  it  ?  I  see  nothing. 

MARY. 

Look  !  Look  !  It  is  the  ghost  of  Robert  Goodell, 
Whom  fifteen  years  ago  this  man  did  murder 
By  stamping  on  his  body  !     In  his  shroud 
He  comes  here  to  bear  witness  to  the  crime  ! 

The  crowd  shrinks  back  from  COREY  in  horror. 
HATHORNE. 

Ghosts  of  the  dead  and  voices  of  the  living 
Bear  witness  to  your  guilt,  and  you  must  die  ! 
It  might  have  been  an  easier  death.     Your  doom 
Will  be  on  your  own  head,  and  not  on  ours. 
Twice  more  will  you  be  questioned  of  these  things ; 
Twice  more  have  room  to  plead  or  to  confess. 
If  you  are  contumacious  to  the  Court, 
And  if,  when  questioned,  you  refuse  to  answer, 
Then  by  the  Statute  you  will  be  condemned 
To  the  peine  forte  et  dure  !    To  have  your  body 
Pressed  by  great  weights  until  you  shall  be  dead  ! 
And  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  your  soul ! 


END   OF  ACT   IV. 


170  Giles  Corey  [AcxV. 


ACT     V. 

SCENE  I.     COREY'S  farm  as  in  Act  II.     Scene  I.     Enter 
RICHARD  GARDNER,  looking  round  him. 

GARDNER. 

Here  stands  the  house  as  I  remember  it, 
The  four  tall  poplar-trees  before  the  door ; 
The  house,  the  barn,  the  orchard,  and  the  well, 
With  its  moss-covered  bucket  and  its  trough  ; 
The  garden,  with  its  hedge  of  currant-bushes  ; 
The  woods,  the  harvest-fields  ;  and,  far  beyond, 
The  pleasant  landscape  stretching  to  the  sea. 
But  everything  is  silent  and  deserted  ! 
No  bleat  of  flocks,  no  bellowing  of  herds, 
No  sound  of  flails,  that  should  be  beating  now  ; 
Nor  man  nor  beast  astir.     What  can  this  mean  ? 

Knocks  at  the  door. 

What  ho  !  Giles  Corey  !  Hillo-ho  !  Giles  Corey  !  — 
No  answer  but  the  echo  from  the  barn, 
And  the  ill-omened  cawing  of  the  crow, 
That  yonder  wings  his  flight  across  the  fields, 
As  if  he  scented  carrion  in  the  air. 

Enter  TITUBA  with  a  basket. 
What  woman  's  this,  that,  like  an  apparition, 
Haunts  this  deserted  homestead  in  broad  day  ? 
Woman,  who  are  you  ? 


Sc.  I.J  of  the  Salem  Farms.  171 

TITUBA. 

I  am  Tituba. 
I  am  John  Indian's  wife.     I  am  a  Witch. 

GARDNER. 

What  are  you  doing  here  ? 

TITUBA. 

I  'm  gathering  herbs,  — 
Cinquefoil,  and  saxifrage,  and  pennyroyal. 

GARDNER   (looking  at  the  herbs). 
This  is  not  cinquefoil,  it  is  deadly  nightshade  ! 
This  is  not  saxifrage,  but  hellebore  ! 
This  is  not  pennyroyal,  it  is  henbane ! 
Do  you  come  here  to  poison  these  good  people  ? 

TITUBA. 

I  get  these  for  the  Doctor  in  the  Village. 
Beware  of  Tituba.     I  pinch  the  children  ; 
Make  little  poppets  and  stick  pins  in  them, 
And  then  the  children  cry  out  they  are  pricked. 
The  Black  Dog  came  to  me,  and  said,  "  Serve  me ! " 
I  was  afraid.     He  made  me  hurt  the  children. 

GARDNER. 

Poor  soul !     She  's  crazed,  with  all  these  Devil's 
doings. 

TITUBA. 

Will  you,  sir,  sign  the  Book  ? 

GARDNER. 

No,  I  '11  not  sign  it. 
Where  is  Giles  Corey  ?     Do  you  know  Giles  Corey  ? 


172  Giles  Corey  [ACT  V. 

TITUBA. 
He 's  safe  enough.    He 's  down  there  in  the  prison. 

GARDNER. 

Corey  in  prison  ?     What  is  he  accused  of  ? 

TITUBA. 

Giles  Corey  and  Martha  Corey  are  in  prison 
Down  there  in  Salem  Village.     Both  are  Witches. 
She  came   to   me  and  whispered,  "  Kill  the  chil 
dren  ! " 
Both  signed  the  Book  ! 

GARDNER. 

Begone,  you  imp  of  darkness  ! 
You  Devil's  dam ! 

TITUBA. 
Beware  of  Tituba ! 

\Exit. 

GARDNER. 

How  often  out  at  sea  on  stormy  nights, 

When  the  waves  thundered  round  me,  and  the  wind 

Bellowed,  and  beat  the  canvas,  and  my  ship 

Clove  through  the  solid  darkness,  like  a  wedge, 

I  Ve  thought  of  him,  upon  his  pleasant  farm, 

Living  in  quiet  with  his  thrifty  housewife, 

And  envied  him,  and  wished  his  fate  were  mine ! 

And  now  I  find  him  shipwrecked  utterly, 

Drifting  upon  this  sea  of  sorceries, 

And  lost,  perhaps,  beyond  all  aid  of  man  ! 

[Exit. 


Sc.  II.]  of  the  Salem  Farms.  1 73 


SCENE  II.     The  prison.    GILES  COREY  at  a  table  on  which 
are  some  papers. 

COREY. 

Now  I  have  done  with  earth  and  all  its  cares  ; 
I  give  my  worldly  goods  to  my  dear  children  ; 
My  body  I  bequeath  to  my  tormentors, 
And  my  immortal  soul  to  Him  who  made  it. 
O  God !  who  in  thy  wisdom  dost  afflict  me 
With  an  affliction  greater  than  most  men 
Have  ever  yet  endured  or  shall  endure, 
Suffer  me  not  in  this  last  bitter  hour 
For  any  pains  of  death  to  fall  from  thee  ! 

MARTHA  is  heard  singing, 

Arise,  O  righteous  Lord  ! 

And  disappoint  my  foes  ; 
They  are  but  thine  avenging  sword, 

Whose  wounds  are  swift  to  close. 

COREY. 

Hark,  hark  !  it  is  her  voice  !     She  is  not  dead  ! 
She  lives  !     I  am  not  utterly  forsaken  ! 

MARTHA,  singing. 

By  thine  abounding  grace, 

And  mercies  multiplied, 
I  shall  awake,  and  see  thy  face  ; 

I  shall  be  satisfied. 

COREY  hides  his  face  in  his  hands.     Enter  the  JAILER,  fol 
lowed  by  RICHARD  GARDNER. 


Giles  Corey  [AcxV. 


JAILER. 

Here  's  a  seafaring  man,  one  Richard  Gardner, 
A  friend  of  yours,  who  asks  to  speak  with  you. 

COREY  rises.      They  embrace. 

COREY. 
I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  ay,  right  glad  to  see  you. 

GARDNER. 

And  I  most  sorely  grieved  to  see  you  thus. 

COREY. 

Of  all  the  friends  I  had  in  happier  days, 
You  are  the  first,  ay,  and  the  only  one, 
That  comes  to  seek  me  out  in  my  disgrace  ! 
And  you  but  come  in  time  to  say  farewell. 
They  Ve  dug  my  grave  already  in  the  field. 
I  thank  you.    There  is  something  in  your  presence, 
I  know  not  what  it  is,  that  gives  me  strength. 
Perhaps  it  is  the  bearing  of  a  man 
Familiar  with  all  dangers  of  the  deep, 
Familiar  with  the  cries  of  drowning  men, 
With  fire,  and  wreck,  and  foundering  ships  at  sea  ! 

GARDNER. 

Ah,  I  have  never  known  a  wreck  like  yours  ! 
Would  I  could  save  you  ! 

COREY. 

Do  not  speak  of  that. 
It  is  too  late.     I  am  resolved  to  die. 


Sc.  II. J  of  the  Salem  Farms.  175 

GARDNER. 

Why  would  you  die  who  have   so   much   to   live 
for?  — 

Your  daughters,  and  — 

COREY. 

You  cannot  say  the  word. 

My  daughters  have  gone  from  me.     They  are  mar 
ried  ; 

They  have  their  homes,  their  thoughts,  apart  from 
me  ; 

I  will  not  say  their  hearts,  —  that  were  too  cruel. 

What  would  you  have  me  do  ? 

GARDNER. 

Confess  and  live. 

COREY. 

That 's  what  they  said  who  came  here  yesterday 
To  lay  a  heavy  weight  upon  my  conscience 
By  telling  me  that  I  was  driven  forth 
As  an  unworthy  member  of  their  church. 

GARDNER. 

It  is  an  awful  death. 

COREY. 

'T  is  but  to  drown,    . 
And  have  the  weight  of  all  the  seas  upon  you. 

GARDNER. 

Say  something ;  say  enough  to  fend  off  death 

Till  this  tornado  of  fanaticism 

Blows  itself  out.     Let  me  come  in  between  you 


1 76  Giles  Corey  [ACT  V. 

And  your  severer  self,  with  my  plain  sense  ; 
Do  not  be  obstinate. 

COREY. 

I  will  not  plead. 

If  I  deny,  I  am  condemned  already, 
In  courts  where  ghosts  appear  as  witnesses, 
And  swear  men's  lives  away.     If  I  confess, 
Then  I  confess  a  lie,  to  buy  a  life 
Which  is  not  life,  but  only  death  in  life. 
I  will  not  bear  false  witness  against  any, 
Not  even  against  myself,  whom  I  count  least. 

GARDNER    (aside). 

Ah,  what  a  noble  character  is  this  ! 

COREY. 

I  pray  you,  do  not  urge  me  to  do  that 
You  would  not  do  yourself.     I  have  already 
The  bitter  taste  of  death  upon  my  lips  ; 
I  feel  the  pressure  of  the  heavy  weight 
That  will  crush  out  my  life  within  this  hour ; 
But  if  a  word  could  save  me,  and  that  word 
Were  not  the  Truth  ;  nay,  if  it  did  but  swerve 
A  hair's-breadth  from  the  Truth,  I  would  not  say  it ! 

GARDNER   (aside). 

How  mean  I  seem  beside  a  man  like  this  ! 

COREY. 

As  for  my  wife,  my  Martha  and  my  Martyr,  — 
Whose  virtues,  like  the  stars,  unseen  by  day, 
Though  numberless,  do  but  await  the  dark 


Sc.  III.]  of  the  Salein  Farms.  177 

To  manifest  themselves  unto  all  eyes,  — 
She  who  first  won  me  from  my  evil  ways, 
And  taught  me  how  to  live  by  her  example, 
By  her  example  teaches  me  to  die, 
And  leads  me  onward  to  the  better  life  ! 

SHERIFF    (without}. 

Giles  Corey  !     Come  !     The  hour  has  struck ! 

COREY. 

I  come ! 
Here  is  my  body  ;  ye  may  torture  it, 

But  the  immortal  soul  ye  cannot  crush  ! 

{Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.    A  street  in  the  Village.    Enter  GLOYD  and 
others. 

GLOYD. 

""Quick,  or  we  shall  be  late ! 

A    MAN. 

That 's  not  the  way. 
Come  here  ;  come  up  this  lane. 

GLOYD. 

I  wonder  now 

If  the  old  man  will  die,  and  will  not  speak  ? 
He  's  obstinate  enough  and  tough  enough 
For  anything  on  earth. 

8*  L 


178  Giles  Corey  [ACTV. 


A  bell  tolls. 

Hark!     What  is  that? 


A   MAN. 

The  passing  bell.     He 's  dead  ! 

GLOYD. 


We  are  too  late. 

\Exeuntin  haste. 


SCENE  IV.  A  field  near  the  graveyard.  GILES  COREY 
lying  dead,  with  a  great  stone  on  his  breast.  The  Sheriff 
at  his  head,  RICHARD  GARDNER  at  his  feet.  A  crowd 
behind.  The  bell  tolling.  Enter  HATHORNE  and 
MATHER. 

HATHORNE. 

This  is  the  Potter's  Field.     Behold  the  fate 
Of  those  who  deal  in  Witchcrafts,  and,  when  ques 
tioned, 

Refuse  to  plead  their  guilt  or  innocence, 
And  stubbornly  drag  death  upon  themselves. 

MATHER. 

O  sight  most  horrible  !     In  a  land  like  this,  * 

Spangled  with  Churches  Evangelical, 
Inwrapped  in  our  salvations,  must  we  seek 
In  mouldering  statute-books  of  English  Courts 


Sc.  IV.]  of  tJie  Salem  Farms.  1 79 

Some  old  forgotten  Law,  to  do  such  deeds  ? 

Those  who  lie  buried  in  the  Potter's  Field 

Will  rise  again,  as  surely  as  ourselves 

That  sleep  in  honored  graves  with  epitaphs  ; 

And  this  poor  man,  whom  we  have  made  a  victim, 

Hereafter  will  be  counted  as  a  martyr  ! 


THE   END. 


Cambridge  :  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  and  Company. 


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